


Inktober 2020

by LydiaLannister



Series: Inktober [2]
Category: Inktober - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 33,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLannister/pseuds/LydiaLannister
Summary: Just my Inktober 2020 stories. These range from 500-3000 words and were inspired by my own prompts. I used images off of Pinterest. The link is below:https://www.pinterest.com/stargazinnginthedark/writing/inktober-2020/
Series: Inktober [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511354
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Model

_Snap! Snap!_

The sound of an actual camera shutter after years of having her sister take crappy shots of her on her iPhone 8 was startling. The professional lighting was a plus too, and Adrienne would never say no to someone else doing her makeup for her.

“Can I get hair back over here?” A pinched looking woman in her late 40s flagged down the young man who had been dashing between the three models for the past three hours. He doubled over panting for a moment and then made his way over to Adrienne. Fiddling with the buttons on a cordless flat iron for a second, he parted her hair swiftly and began drawing the iron through her curls.

She winced slightly as he tugged at her hair, biting the inside of her lip as the iron sizzled. The lights were starting to feel a little hot on her face, but she kept the smile that had gotten her the job plastered across her face.

“And send the stylist back over here, I need to see if we can get this cut a little more flattering.” Adrienne tossed a quick glance in the mirror on the far wall. The dress looked fine on her, hugging the curves of her hips and thighs neatly and accentuated the glowing skin of her shoulders. It wasn’t a clothing shoot though. The camera was focused on the golden pendant glittering around her neck.

The stylist was supposedly one of the finest in the city, but from the fairly plain and shabby way that he was clothed Adrienne wouldn’t have known it. He took long strides across the studio floor, a role of tape on one arm and a bag full of bulldog clips in the other, then stopped abruptly in front of Adrienne.

“Ah, yes.” He leaned back for a moment, letting his eyes rake over her body just a moment too long. Walking around to her back he began adjusting the back of the dress, pulling it back until Adrienne could barely breath and then came back towards the front to admire his work.

“Better?” The woman, Susan or Samantha, Adrienne couldn’t quite recall, nodded, and then quickly clacked her way across the studio to where one of the other girls was complaining about her lipstick clashing with the color of her eyes. The photographer began to snap away again, and Adrienne stretched the smile as far as it would go, hoping that her eyes weren’t a dead give away that it was fake.

***

The car in front of her wasn’t moving, in fact, the whole freeway seemed to be in a standstill and Adrienne was beginning to regret not taking her normal way home. Her little sister would have to eat alone tonight but that couldn’t be helped now. Taking advantage of the standstill, she pulled a makeup wipe out of the glove compartment and began to strip the thick layers of powder and cream from her face. She was starting a fresh wipe for her eyes when the car behind her honked, jolting her back into action as she hit the gas to close the gap between her and the car that was now definitely moving.

Drowning out her sniffles with the radio, Adrienne composed herself, or rather tried to and failed miserably.

The other girls had looked happy, but they were models and Adrienne now knew herself exactly how much of that could be -had to be- faked. Anything for the perfect picture. Even if it meant letting them use a foundation and concealer three shades too light, and destroying her curls, and pushing her breasts up so that they were nearly bursting out of the dress’ neckline. Her dream was worth all of this wasn’t it? It had to be.

The paycheck was good. Her sister would appreciate the new pair of shoes sitting in the passenger seat and the necklace they had given her would make an excellent Christmas gift. Her face when Adrienne got home would make it all worth it. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she wiped the mascara and tears away.

“You’re home! How was…” her sister trailed off as she noted the dark smears on Adrienne’s face.

“I’m sorry. There’s soup on the stove, don’t worry about the dishes.” Adrienne tried to muster a smile for her sister, but it fell flat and instead she just set down the shoe box on the table and sighed.

They sat in silence while Adrienne sipped away at her bowl, occasionally her sister would squeak her new shoes on the linoleum, but the excitement was muted by the tear stains on Adrienne’s face. When the last drop had been carefully swallowed, the two of them curled up on the couch, neither one in the mood for their customary Top Model episode.

“You’re beautiful, Adrienne,” her sister finally murmured, gently smoothing out the frazzled strands of hair falling across Adrienne’s eyes.

“I know,” was all Adrienne could muster as a reply. She hadn’t run into any traffic that morning and the line at Starbuck’s was only three people long. And with her skin surprisingly clear, it had been the start to a wonderful morning. But the day hadn’t stayed that way, and now all she could manage was to cry softly into her little sister’s arms.

After a while, the hands stroking her hair stopped, and then Adrienne’s sister sprang up.

“I’ve got it!” Adrienne was catapulted from her moping position and looked at her sister bewildered.

“Got what?”

“If we hurry the lighting’ll be just right. And you can wear the white shirt, the one you really like with the scoop in the front, and-” By this point she was too excited and far away from Adrienne for her to hear what came next, but when she returned with the shirt and the jewelry box and her phone in hand Adrienne understood what her sister was trying to do.

The outside of their apartment building wasn’t nearly as professional looking as the one from the morning, but Adrienne would have taken the old yellow boards and the brilliant blue sky any day over the sterile white. Her sister was practically bouncing up and down as she gently closed the clasp to the necklace that had felt almost suffocating just a few hours ago. Adrienne shifted her first few poses far too quickly for her sister to get a good shot, but as the fresh air filled her lungs and the sun danced across her face so much more real than the hot lights of the studio she began to ease up.

“Ooooh! This might be _the_ shot,” her sister squealed as she squinted at her phone. The smile that spread across Adrienne’s face came easily and looking up at her sister she knew it was real.

Maybe her sister’s iPhone 8 wasn’t so bad after all. 


	2. Strawberry

Sunlight fell through the leaves of the great tree, making her squint as she stared up through the branches. Her skirt flaring out around her, almost the same shade as the corn stalks behind her and the sun above, danced in the wind and, had there been anyone else around, she might have pinned her arms firmly down by her sides. Now her hands were raised above her as if in prayer and she spun around and around on her bare feet, delighting in the warm grass and the soft dirt sneaking up between the blades. The wind was tugging not only on her skirt, but her enormous cloudlike bushels of strawberry hair too. Her grandmother would surely scold her later for being so careless, but it could not be helped. The fading days of summer had simply called to her.

A butterfly, making slow strokes as if moving through molasses, made its way across the cornfield. Its enormous wings, ornately patterned, looked as if they were pieces of stained glass from a broken church window and mesmerized the girl for a moment. The way the corn stalks began to shake as the butterfly passed over jolted her into action though as she dashed for the barn.

Properly armed with the thick rope net they kept just for these occasions, she headed into the field. Her bare feet made little sound as she approached from behind, careful to stay out of the small dust tornado the creature left in its wake. The corn had been ripe for the harvest anyways, but each broken stalk wormed its way into her heart as if she could already hear her grandmother’s reprimands for not catching the butterfly fast enough.

_You shouldn’t have been twirling about in the first place, Ndinga._

_You should have watched by the eastern side of the field, that’s where they always come from, Ndinga._

_Look at these ruined stalks, what a mess, Ndinga._

_What would your mother think, Ndinga?_

Of course, her mother was long returned to the earth, and had worries far more pressing than a few bent corn stalks. The thought of her mother reminded Ndinga that she would need to watch for the burning venom, and that perhaps she should have thrown over the old burlap sack that hung next to the net. There was no doubt in her mind that her grandmother would scold her now. The least she could do would be to bring down the butterfly before it did anymore damage to the stalks.

Crouching just out of reach of the whirlwind of dust, Ndinga waited until the great beast was on the upflap and sprung.

She unfurled the net, but instead of neatly catching both wings and bringing the butterfly to the ground in one foul swoop, one of the wings remained free. It flapped quickly, thumping against the earth as it tried and failed to throw off the net. Ndinga swore as her hair suddenly caught and pulled her down to the ground next to the butterfly. Her grandmother’s voice was faint on the other side of the field, but over the sound of wings and her own stream of curses she did not hear a word of her grandmother’s warning.

“Ndinga! From the forest, the ancient one! You must get out of that field, Ndinga leave the butterfly, it can have the corn for all I care!” A writhing emerald mass was rustling through the edge of the stalks and Ndinga and the butterfly were directly in its path. The butterfly beat its wings faster and faster as Ndinga struggled with freeing the last curl.

The rustling grew louder, but Ndinga was still deaf to her grandmother’s cries and to the approaching death. Instead her focus was on trapping the other wing; the butterfly, still intent on freeing itself, turned and readied its proboscis. Ndinga ducked out of the way, staining her vibrant skirt with dirt as she slid across the ground. But the burning venom was not intended for her.

There was a rumbling hissing noise as the venom made contact with a bulbous yellow eye. Ndinga scrambled back as she saw the thrashing snake through the corn stalks, her eyes flitted for a moment towards the trapped butterfly, then back to the snake unhinging its jaw.

She could hear her grandmother shouting this time.

Darting forward, she tore the net away. Her palms burned as the rope slid through them, but with a tug and a lurch the butterfly was free. Not a moment too soon, as it beat its wings once, twice, then a third time until it was out of the immediate reach of the sharp teeth snapping hungrily towards it. Ndinga stared at the two creatures standing off against each other in the cornfield that had been nothing but peaceful that morning.

“Get away from there, Ndinga, you crazy girl!” Her grandmother could have torn both the ancient one and the butterfly apart in an instant with that voice. But her grandmother was right, standing there transfixed in the corn was dangerous. She turned her back on the frightening scene and ran through the stalks trailing the net in one hand and using the other to push the corn aside. As she reached the edge of the field, she stumbled through her grandmother’s strawberry patch nearly squashing the first glistening red berry of the year. _Ndinga, you better not be in your mother’s strawberries again!_

She felt her foot catch on a loop in the net, but before she could tumble into the dirt again, two strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.

“You scared me, Ndinga,” her grandmother’s voice was deathly quiet now. Relief flooded both of them as they stood together for a moment, but then Ndinga pulled away to look back at the battle in the middle of the cornfield. There was no saving the harvest now. Sizzling corn and the hulking body of an ancient one lay strewn about and the butterfly’s windstorm had done the field little favors.

The butterfly that had begun all of this, but who had also saved Ndinga, was floating far off, on to the next cornfield in search of the sweet syrup they were so partial to. Her grandmother looked out at the field too for a moment and then said rather calmly for a woman who had just had her entire crop destroyed, “I suppose we’ll just have to try for a better crop next year.”

Turning back to the old farmhouse, she began to make her way up the dirt path. Before she was out of earshot though she turned back to Ndinga and uttered one last phrase:

“And if you ever go in your mother’s strawberries again…”


	3. Flowers

There was little to be said about the girl who lived next door. She never left the apartment, or at least not at any reasonable hour. Only one person had ever seen beyond the paint chipped door, but they weren’t the sort that chatted with the neighbors and didn’t come often. There was never any mail for her either, not even the occasional Amazon package or advertisements. In fact, if she didn’t keep the little garden on her balcony in such tip top shape, he might not have known of her existence. Of course, he had seen her that one fire drill in the middle of December, but she had been wrapped up in a puffy jacket and a scarf covering most of her face.

And he knew her name. That was scrawled in neat handwriting next to number 9 on the apartment buzzer.

“Azalea Igadi,” his tongue stumbled over the consonants as he said the name to the empty apartment. He glanced at the flowers lying on his kitchen table, wondering if she would like them, or if she would roll her eyes and say that everyone got her azaleas. His last girlfriend would laugh at him and tell him it was strange to be in love with someone you had never met, but something about apartment nine had drawn him in. Azalea had caught his attention and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop glancing at her name plate or his heart skipping a beat whenever he walked past by her door until he had seen the garden from the other side.

***

The leaves turning red and gold outside her window made for wonderful inspiration and she could have spent years just painting those fiery trees. But landscapes didn’t sell for much and the paints required to capture the flames just right weren’t exactly cheap. Instead she was staring at the commission piece, a portrait of her client’s daughter. But the piece was coming together much slower than she wanted it too, the nose had been repainted three times and something about the eyes made them feel cold and empty.

Before she could lift her paintbrush to ruin the noise for a fourth time, there was a knock on the door. She waited for a moment, perhaps they were a visitor for Ms. Jordan and had simply mixed up the numbers. Or maybe the screw was loose again and the nine had become a six. There was a very slim chance that Callie had lost her key, or that it was a serial killer, but Azalea almost immediately discarded both thoughts. The knock came again. Softly, almost as if the person on the other side of the door was unsure. She rose from her stool and made her way through the kitchen, grabbing the knife from the top drawer as she approached the door. The third knock was so faint that, had she not been standing directly by the door, she would have missed it.

Turning the knob slowly, Azalea opened the door an inch. She peered curiously through the slit, hand clenched around the knife, but the man standing outside the door holding a bunch of flowers looked decidedly harmless and she quickly tossed the knife aside before he could see it. She winced as it clattered loudly against the kitchen tile; the man, staring intently at his flowers, didn’t seem to hear. Azalea opened the door with a creak and the man looked up startled, crimson creeping up his pale neck.

“Can I help you?” Azalea’s voice sounded strange to her after so many hours of sitting in her quiet apartment. For a moment, the man didn’t respond, instead he stood there gasping like a fish on dry land as the crimson crept further up his face. Then he thrust the flowers in her direction.

“These are for you.”

“What?”

“The flowers…I thought, you know, because of your name and I see your garden every day-” the man cut himself off, then continued- “I’m sorry, I meant for that to be much smoother.”

Azalea smiled tightly. She hadn’t had someone give her flowers since her father’s funeral. Callie knew she didn’t like them, so she always got chocolate roses for their anniversary instead, but here was this man tripping over his words and smiling at her hopefully from behind a bunch of slightly wilted azaleas. The polite thing would be to take them and say thank you. But instead Azalea turned and shut the door. Then opened it again.

The man was still standing there; he hadn’t been given nearly enough time to register her rejection yet.

“They’re lovely,” she lied, “but I’m afraid I’m allergic.” Another lie of course, but it was a kinder way to turn him down. Callie would approve. Her father would have said the lie was wrong, but then again none of his ex-wives had come to his funeral so perhaps Callie was right this time.

The hope drained from his face and with it the crimson, like when she washed her paint brushes out in the sink. He pulled the flowers back and nodded.

“Right, sorry, I hope I didn’t bother you...” He turned to go, then paused. “Would you maybe want to grab a coffee sometime? I hear the Botanical Gardens have a nice café-” He was cut short by the slam of her door.

Once she had turned the lock, she let out a sigh and slid down to the ground letting her head fall back to rest against the door.

“Why does everyone think I like flowers? That stupid garden isn’t even mine,” she huffed, hoping that the man wasn’t still standing on the other side of the door. Pushing herself up from the floor she walked back to her unfinished painting. The nose didn’t look nearly as bad as she had thought, perhaps she would just leave it. The man commissioning it was half-blind anyways.

Setting the painting aside, Azalea placed a new canvas on the easel. She let her mind wander as she watched the leaves gently fall to the empty street, but before she could dip her brush into the paint there was another knock at the door.

Wrenching it open with considerably too much force, Azalea was met with an enormous bouquet of flowers.

“This one doesn’t have azaleas, and we don’t have to go the Botanical Gardens,” the man managed to say before the look on Azalea’s face shut him up.

“My wife and I are celebrating our anniversary today.” Azalea took the flowers. The door clicked shut and she didn’t bother looking back at the man, whose mouth had fallen into a little ‘o’.

She took down the dusty vase from above the stove and set the flowers in it. Callie would like them, and Azalea had to admit that the colors were stunning. Perhaps her leaf landscape would have to wait.

***

“Z, I’m home,” her wife shouted, as she set down the groceries next to the fridge. “Z, what’s the good knife doing under the fridge? Z?”

Callie walked into the living room, which was really more Azalea’s studio, to find her wife working intently on a piece. An enormous bunch of flowers stood on the table next to her.

“That’s not the commission, is it?” Callie leaned over her wife’s shoulder to take in the piece. Azalea shook her head.

“No, I finished the commission this morning. This one’s just for us.” Azalea smiled as she placed the final stroke on the woman’s legs. The light cut beautifully through the painting, and Azalea could almost see the morning it was based on.

Callie had been in the bath reading when Azalea had come in, her legs propped up against the wall and glistening with little beads of water. Her head and shoulders kept carefully above the water so as to keep her hair and the book dry. The painting had embellished the moment with vibrant flower petals filling the bath around her. Delicate white daisies and a few happy sunflowers dotted the water, but mostly there were soft pink petals, azaleas.

“It’s beautiful,” Callie breathed, squeezing her wife’s shoulder as she set her paint brush down.

Turning around to kiss her, Azalea whispered, “I’m glad you like it.”

As their lips connected Azalea forgot the struggles of the morning and the awkward encounter that the afternoon had brought with it. Now only her wife consumed her thoughts. She pushed Callie back towards the kitchen table hungrily, kissing her with every fiber of her paint stained being. Sweeping the vase aside, she lifted Callie onto the table and kissed her again ignoring the soft crash of the glass against the carpet.

“I love you, Callie.”

“I love you, Azalea.”


	4. Ritual

The wind bit her face as she stood on the edge of the cliff. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun, she looked out at the eastern valley. The mountains that rose steep on either side cast shadows across her village, but up here among the clouds everything was bright and clear. Her thoughts, which had been racing faster than the hawk that had been hunting alongside her, were calm now. Each breath drawing in fresh air and a new wave of stillness. She only hoped that the stillness would last when she made her way back down the other side of the mountain.

A sharp whistle drew her attention away from the forest floor below and she turned towards the small fire behind her.

The boy she had made the strenuous trek with was uninterested in the whistle but perked up when she made her way past him.

“Do you think we’re going to make it this time?” His question was simple enough, but she couldn’t have given him an answer if she’d wanted to. The ritual only happened once every year and she had never been on the hunt before. The other two hunters, Branagh and Reese, were a year older and had gone before, but it had been an unsuccessful hunt.

“Perhaps.” She left her answer vague and didn’t bother saying it in his direction as she continued towards the whistle. Branagh was standing by the small cairn that marked their starting point and when she came into sight he grinned.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this time, Carys,” he said, throwing an arm around her as she stood next to him. She offered up a small smile of her own, but she couldn’t share in Branagh’s confidence.

“I trust you, but we’ve been hunting together since before we could walk. That other boy doesn’t seem to care much, and Reese hasn’t bothered showing up,” Carys mused, leaning into Branagh’s warm chest. He pulled her closer as she shivered through her leather jerkin, the small outcropping providing little shelter from the wind. For a while they stood there, taking in the glorious day and anticipating the coming hunt. Then the boy rose from the fire, slinging his bow over his left shoulder, and joined Carys and Branagh at the cairn. Reese was still nowhere to be found, but that was his problem now. The sun had touched the village and the hunt had begun.

***

Reese snored soundly, half buried in the pile of straw that he had made his bed. The goat with whom he was sharing the barn chewed on his shoe happily, entirely content to give up a portion of his straw to the sleeping youth. His mother was not nearly so content when she threw open the barn door.

“Reese! What on earth and heavens above are you still doing here? The hunt’s started and you know that Branagh and Carys haven’t got a good shot at it with out you. That other boy they’ve got with them is even more useless than you,” she pulled the still half asleep boy out of the straw and continued, “If you hurry and take the back road you should still be able to make it to the first rendezvous spot. Now go! I haven’t got any intention of letting my son be the reason the village doesn’t get a feast tonight.”

***

Carys crept through the woods on light feet, the others waiting for her to report back. She was the smallest, so it made sense that they would send her first, but Branagh was the better tracker and she wished that he were by her side to pick out the nearly invisible path left behind by their prey. And she felt naked without him covering her back. A sharp crack made her whirl around, an arrow knocked in her bow and her knees instinctively sunk into a crouch. There was a rustling noise and then a loud yelp as her arrow thwanged past a mop of dusty brown hair.

“Watch where you’re shooting that thing! You nearly took my ear off, Carys.”

Of course, it was Reese. She was glad to see him, but he had also probably just scared off any of the prey in their vicinity. Not to mention that he was late. Branagh and the other boy had heard the commotion and broke through the brush before she could scold Reese and instead she just huffed and turned back towards the trail.

After Branagh had greeted Reese with his signature grin and a clap on the back, he pushed ahead to join her. The two of them falling into an easy rhythm as they followed the light tracks through the thick trees and wild underbrush.

Despite the lack of words shared between them, they kept up a rapid fire conversation with gestures and the occasional rolling of eyes or nudging of shoulders. Branagh was convinced they would be home before sundown, fresh meat in tow, while Carys argued that between Reese’s late arrival and the boy whose name she hadn’t bothered learning they had far too much lost time and skill to make up for and surely wouldn’t reach the village until dawn. She had promised that she wouldn’t return home empty handed and if that meant keeping them all out far longer than the normal hunt she would. 

The sun was burning high in the sky by the time they reached the plains and they still hadn’t gotten a glimpse of their prey. Carys wished she had dressed in layers as sweat began to soak uncomfortably through the leather under her armpits and collarbone. Behind her, Branagh was sweating too and the only one of them who looked even remotely pleased to be there was Reese, casually tossing his knife up and down. After the second time dropping it and a sharp look from Branagh, he sheathed it again and they continued with out much excitement for several more hours.

***

Panting, Carys scrambled down the rocky slope. Branagh was supposed to be cutting around the other side to head of the herd, but Carys couldn’t see him yet and there was no way she was letting them escape. The others were far behind them and wouldn’t be much help, unless the boy was an extraordinary shot or Reese magically became the world’s fastest runner. The scrapes on her knees and hands hardly bothered her at all as she pushed her feet to go even faster and the burning in her lungs was nothing compared to the thrill that coursed through her as she drew an arrow from her quiver. Regardless of whether Branagh was ready or not, she had to take her shot or else she would lose her prey. This was her chance.

Branagh could see Carys as a tiny dot in the distance from his perch in a great oak tree, bow pulled taught and trained on the approaching herd. He only hoped that she wouldn’t take her shot too early.

Reese had lost the others a while back when the boy had first spotted the herd grazing and was now trying to make his way towards the gathering dust cloud that was tearing through the valley towards the woods. His knife was held tightly in one hand while he used the other to brush his matted hair out of his eyes. Not that there was much he could see from this far. Branagh and Carys were probably fine without him, despite what his mother had said, but he still felt bad about not being part of the chase. At any rate, they’d need him to help carry the deer back.

***

The first arrow sunk into the rear haunches of one of the younger deer near the back of the herd, sending it to the dusty forest floor a few hundred paces from Branagh’s perch. He swore under his breath, but he knew Carys’ hunting style well enough to have prepared himself for her change of plans.

Leaping from the branches he let loose his arrow and watched it meet its mark as another deer fell with a thud to the ground. He rolled quickly out of the way of the trampling herd and as soon as he was crouched released another shot. Carys felled two more and then the rest were gone too far into the cover of the thicker inner woods. It would have to be enough for the feast.

***

Reese’s mother was the first to see them coming down the village path and gave a great shout of joy when she saw her son with a deer slung around his shoulders. The children began to run towards the victorious hunters, cheering them on as they walked through the village and marveling at the fresh deer, mouths already watering for the feast that was to come.

Carys set down one of the smaller deer next to the larger one that Branagh had been carrying and flung her arms around him, laughing at their success and glad that he had been right. Leaving the others to skin and cook the deer, they stripped themselves of their filthy clothes and bathed in the river the way they had since they were children. Cleaned of the hunt, they found their way back to a roaring fire and sat side by side watching Reese tell an inaccuracy riddled rendition of the hunt to a crowd of eager children as the moon rose full above them.

“Ready for next year?” Branagh laughed and she smiled back.


	5. Melting

There was such a bitter cold within her that she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to take another step. Above her the frozen cliff loomed, mocking her from where she was trapped below. For a fleeting moment she saw her mother standing at the top, smiling sadly as she shook her head at her eldest daughter. Then a cry from behind her made her twist her head in what would surely be her final motion. The scene that unfolded before her was unbearably familiar, but she could not move her feet which were ice cold and heavy against the ground.

Her sister lay collapsed against the frozen earth, unable to protect herself from the sword looming over her. The cold within her rose even further, slicing through her heart as she stood helpless - frozen.

“Anna!” Barely able to force the word out of her lips, she watched as her sister turned and as their eyes met the blade came down with a sickening whoosh. A single tear managed to escape before the cold reached her eyes and then enveloped her completely.

Honey Maren woke to soft cries for what seemed like the fifth time that week. The nightmares were getting worse and no matter how long Honey Maren sang to her or stroked her hair, the blond ice queen could never manage to get a whole night’s sleep.

Shaking her gently awake, Honey Maren murmured in her love’s ear, “Elsa, wake up.”

It took her a few more tries until Elsa’s eyes shot open and she reached for Honey Maren’s arms. Sobbing into them, she tried to control her breathing, until she could finally manage a few words whispered hoarsely towards Honey Maren.

“It felt so real.” Honey Maren shushed her gently and wiped away her tears with a warm hand.

“It’s alright, she’s safe. In Arendelle, with Kristoff and Sven and Olaf. Nothing is going to happen to her,” Honey Maren said as Elsa curled herself even further into the safety of her arms. Outside their warm tent it had started to snow.

“But what if she’s not. What if the dreams are trying to tell me something? Like when the voice called me to Ahtohallan, when it brought me to you.” Elsa’s voice was frantic, and Honey Maren could see the snow start to creep into their tent. If she didn’t calm Elsa soon, the whole village would be feet deep in snow.

“I think they’re just nightmares, Elsa. But we haven’t been down to Arendelle since the wedding, if you wanted, we could go. Maybe seeing that Anna’s okay will help with the nightmares…” Honey Maren trailed off as her brother stomped into the little opening of the tent. Ryder stood there for a moment taking in his sister and the ice queen curled up in her lap.

“Elsa, if you could maybe, erhm, not snow in the entire village like last time?” He swiveled awkwardly in the opening, then made a quick exit. Honey Maren smiled softly at her brother. Ryder was still in awe of Elsa’s powers and half the time he tried speaking to her it ended up coming out funny. Elsa flushed at his request and a look of concentration filled her face as she extended a hand towards the entrance that Ryder had left half open in his hurry to leave. The flurry of snow that had started building up melted away.

Elsa rose from their nest of blankets and offered Honey Maren her hand, which she took, allowing herself to be pulled up.

“I think I’d like that. To see Anna, I mean,” Elsa said, beginning to grab articles of clothing from around the tent. Honey Maren nodded and help out her saddle bag for Elsa to stuff the clothes into. By the time they had gathered the essentials -whatever they had forgotten Anna would provide in Arendelle- the sun was nearly at its peak and the village was loud and bustling with the Northuldra people. Ryder was out grazing the reindeer, so Honey Maren asked Yelena to leave him a message that she had gone with Elsa to Arendelle. With her brother taken care of, she weaved her way through the busy village towards Elsa, already sitting on the Water Nok. Twisting her hair around one finger, Elsa looked up as Honey Maren approached. She smiled, but there was a thin veil of ice separating her from the rest of the world, her nightmare was clearly still fresh in her mind and her eagerness to see Anna was clear in the way she tapped her feet rapidly against the Nok’s flank. Honey Maren gave one last glance at her village and then reached up for Elsa’s hand, pulling herself onto the cool back of the Water Nok behind Elsa.

With a light touch from Elsa, the Nok sprang forward, nearly lurching Honey Maren off the horse. She clung tighter to Elsa. Having only ridden the Nok a few times before, she supposed it was alright to grip Elsa as tightly as she was, but as the rocking rhythm slowly grew more comfortable, she eased up.

They stopped at Oaken’s Trading Post as the sun started to slip below the horizon, the whole forest glittering. Honey Maren was exhausted from the endless up and down, but Elsa was anxious to reach Arendelle, so they had compromised with a short stop at Oaken’s. Honey Maren had made a rousing argument for trying the sauna, but Elsa had quickly shut her up with promises of a hot bath once they reached Arendelle, a bath that they would share.

Riding through the dark made Honey Maren grip Elsa a little tighter again and every time she heard a howl rip through the freezing night air, she buried her face into Elsa’s back. There were no wolves in the Enchanted Forest, or anything that posed any danger to them besides the Rock Giants, but they were usually content with staying further up North.

When they finally arrived at the castle gates, Honey Maren’s fingers were frozen and her cheeks were flushed deep pink, although that might have been in anticipation of her bath rather than the cold. Anna greeted them at the door, having been informed by an overjoyed Olaf that her sister was coming.

After Elsa and Anna had embraced, the young queen quickly led them into the warmth of a sitting room where she had the cook bring out some soup and an array of chocolates. Elsa tore into the chocolate immediately to which Honey Maren shared a knowing smile with Anna. Chocolate fixed everything. Or nearly everything. As if hearing Honey Maren’s thoughts, Elsa paused in her chocolate consumption and focused on Anna.

“We didn’t just come to visit, Anna. I’ve been having nightmares, of you, hurt. Do you have any idea what it might mean?” Elsa’s words tumbled out and Honey Maren covered her cold hand with her own, hoping to calm her. But it was only after Anna promised that she was fine that Elsa relaxed the frigid tension in her body.

The rest of the evening went by easily. Kristoff and Sven joined them in a rowdy game of charades that Olaf and Elsa won, although Honey Maren was sure that they had cheated. And then, as the others headed off to their respective beds, it was just Elsa and her.

“I told you everything would be alright,” Honey Maren breathed as Elsa slid closer. Relieved that her sister was safe, and glad to be with Mare alone, Elsa cut off whatever Mare was going to say next with a kiss that was anything but cold. Outside, a soft flurry of snow came down as Honey Maren kissed her back.

***

The two of them awoke to a commotion outside the castle gates, still half asleep and tangled together under the bedsheet. Their bath had taken most of the night. And after the water had grown cold, they had moved to the bed, enjoying the soft sheets and high ceiling that were sorely missed in their tent.

A sharp knock on the door jolted them into action. Elsa slipped into one of her old Arendellian dresses, while Honey Maren wore her Northuldra tunic. Neither of them had time to do much about their wild and unkempt hair nor the messiness of their room before the door opened to an uncharacteristically serious looking Olaf.

“What is it, Olaf? What’s going on?” Elsa asked as they heard a shout from the courtyard. Honey Maren had never seen the light-hearted snowman like this before; he looked like he was going to clobber someone to death with his carrot.

“Hans. He’s here.” Immediately Elsa had a ball of snow in one hand and an ice dagger in the other. Honey Maren had heard about Prince Hans of the Southern Isles and his attempted murder of both Anna and her Elsa a few times and she felt something hot and nasty boil in her stomach. Clenching her fist, Honey Maren marched out the door. Elsa looked at Olaf quizzically, then followed Mare down the stairs and into the courtyard.

Elsa needn’t have worried about Anna’s safety. Matthias and Kristoff had both solidly placed themselves between Hans and her sister, not to mention that Sven and half a dozen guards were circling him as well. What Elsa should have worried about was Honey Maren, who stomped right past the others and punched the devious looking red-head square in the nose.

“How dare you show your face here after what you did to her!?” A short pause, as Honey Maren tried and failed to compose herself, then, “I would turn that smug grin of yours right back around and leave through those gates while you still can. Arendelle doesn’t want you here and neither do I.”

Hans chuckled. Holding his bleeding nose, he replied.

“I’m not here to hurt the queen or her sister. In fact, I came because Anna invited me. I must say, it would have been nice to know that Elsa was going to be here as well, but none the less, here I am to discuss the trade agreement as promised.”

Elsa spun on her heels to glare at Anna. Honey Maren just sort of stood where she had punched Hans and then quickly moved back to join Elsa, slipping her hand into the one that had been about to hurl shards of ice at the prince. Squeezing it once, Elsa opened her mouth to speak, but Hans cut her off before she could get anything out.

“Oh, and congratulations on the baby. There’s a gift somewhere in the stack of goods.”

The whole courtyard turned to ice.

“Baby! Trade agreement with the man who tried to murder you! Wait, what do you mean-baby!?” As the temperature of the courtyard plunged, so did Elsa and it became increasingly difficult for Honey Maren to hold onto her. Kristoff moved closer to Anna, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders as she shivered. Hans stood in the cold laughing, while Elsa looked as though she had turned to glass.

Then Anna shivered again, more violently this time and almost as quickly as it had appeared the ice vanished.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I…I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay. I should have told you last night, about Hans coming and, and the baby. I just didn’t want to overwhelm you, but I guess that backfired wonderfully anyways,” Anna reassured her sister. She easily brushed off Kristoff’s worried arms and took the few steps needed to throw her arms around Elsa.

With another winter in summer reversed, Anna led Elsa back inside the castle with promises of chocolate for everyone. She even invited Hans, although with everyone else shooting daggers at him, he wisely declined, saying he had to check on the boat and that he would return the following morning to sign the agreement.

“So, I’m really going to be an aunt?” Elsa’s question was giddy with excitement and Honey Maren could already imagine her singing the baby lullabies or making little ice figurines for them to play with. Kristoff beamed as he wrapped an arm around his wife and child, and Olaf was already discussing names with Sven.

“What do you think, Sven? Should she name the princess Blueberry? Or maybe Sunshine? Ooh, no no wait, I’ve got it! Iduna!” Delighted with his idea, Olaf leapt around the room, nearly singing his arm by the fire.

Honey Maren wrapped her arms around Elsa as she chattered nervously about all the things she would do with the baby and all the ways that she would be able to help Anna around the castle and if the princess would be able to come visit the Enchanted Forest when she was older.

“I love you, Elsa.” But there was hint of sadness that Honey Maren couldn’t keep out of the words because she would never be able to give Elsa a child. She would never be able to make Elsa as happy as she was now with the news of Anna’s baby.

As if Elsa sensed her worry, she pressed a kiss against Mare’s forehead.

“I can’t wait to be an aunt. But I don’t think I could imagine sharing you with anyone else.” Elsa watched as the words sank in and a small smile spread across Mare’s face.

“Me neither.” And the kiss that they shared melted away everything until it was just the two of them.


	6. Ball

The swamp was quiet; even the crickets had gone to sleep, and she was the only one staring at the deep blue above. Her slimy legs neatly folded beneath her, she took in the great expanse, marveling at the drops of gold that rushed by. _I wish I could touch them._

To stand on two feet and reach for the stars, how wonderous that must be.

Lost in the reeds, she croaked softly, lamenting to the sky, and wishing more than anything to be human. But come morning, she was still just a slimy frog.

***

Rolling through the grass, the ball quickly became invisible to the princess despite her effort to keep up with it. She swore colorfully as she heard a splash followed by a croak. Her brother had chosen the best possible day to throw his precious golden ball over the wall, truly. It wasn’t as if she was already running for her final dress fitting or her meeting with her father. And there were of course no servants there to fetch it for him as they were all preparing for the evening’s festivities. No really, she was delighted to be dragging her skirts through the mud for her brother’s stupid ball.

Her feet stumbled over the edge of the grassy ledge and she found herself planted face first in a shallow pool of muddy, tepid water. At least she had found her brother’s ball.

“I believe you were looking for this?” The princess shrieked, jerking her head backwards in attempts to get away from the slimy thing wrapped around her brother’s golden ball.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve only just discovered it myself,” the slime said.

Sitting upright in the water, the princess stared.

“Discovered what?” She managed to get out, eyes still wide. As she blinked the water out of them, the slime took on a proper form. A frog, a fucking talking frog. Exactly what she needed on top of everything else.

“That I can speak! Before I could only croak, and you human folk never did seem to understand that. Now do you want this ball back or not? It’s quite heavy you know,” the frog said politely, offering up the shiny ball.

“Right, yes. You’re a talking frog,” the princess said, still staring rather incredulously as she took the ball from the frog’s forelegs.

“Well it seems a bit silly to state the obvious, but yes, I am a talking frog. Although I should tell you I didn’t talk yesterday.” The frog hopped from the water up onto the grassy ledge, so it was once again face to face with the princess.

“This is all rather fascinating, but I really should go back,” the princess said, standing and lifting her sopping wet skirts. Before she could take a step towards the castle, the frog leapt in front of her.

“Where to? Can I come? Please, I’ve always wanted to see how humans live,” the frog pleaded. The princess paused for a moment; she couldn’t very well bring a talking frog back to the castle, then again, her little brother wasn’t that much of a step up. Finally, she knelt down next to the frog.

“I’m going back to the castle. And if you stay hidden, I suppose I can bring you back for a little while.” The frog leapt about wildly, then onto the princess’ outstretched hand and allowed itself to be placed in the left breast pocket of the princess’ dress.

***

Things had picked up even more back at the castle and the princess was glad that she had decided to tuck the frog safely into her pocket, or else it may have gotten squashed under a hurried servant’s foot. She had returned her brother’s ball and was now running to make her dress fitting. The frog chattered away delightedly, and it was a good thing everyone was so busy or else they might have wondered why the princess’ chest was speaking in a croaky tenor. Upon reaching her rooms, the princess shut the door hastily and deposited the frog carefully on her dresser. She tugged the ruined dress over her head and threw it under her bed not a moment too soon as the dress maker knocked on the door.

“Come in!” The princess threw a quick glance at the frog hidden behind her jewelry box, hoping that it would have the sense to stay quiet.

The dress maker swept into the room, entourage in tow, and began making a fuss immediately about the state of the princess’ hair, which was of course, still sopping wet. The frog took in the spectacle with eyes as wide as the princess’ had been an hour before. The other humans squeezed and poked and twisted the girl every which way, until finally she stood there in a dress that shimmered like the stars. A soft croak escaped the frog, as she took in the deep blue and the pinpricks of gold in awe.

“Eeeeee!” shrieked one of the women who had been neatly folding the excess cloth near the princess’ dresser. In an instant the whole room flew into commotion, with shouts of frog! and screams from the ladies as they chased after it. All the while the princess tried to frantically keep the frog away from the others, until finally the frog made a daring leap past the dress maker’s outstretched hands and into the bathing chambers. Triumphant the dress maker shut the door quickly, trapping the frog inside.

The room was still, the ladies having finally stopped shrieking, then there was a tinkling sound like a glass vase breaking into a thousand little shards and a familiar voice.

“Would someone care to bring me some clothes? It’s a tad chilly in here without my slimy coat.” The princess rushed to open the door, a tunic in hand, as one of the ladies fainted.

Where moments before there had been a muddy green frog there was now a beaming woman. Handing her the tunic, the princess ordered everyone out. The dress maker gave the two women a sharp look, then followed the rest of her ladies into the corridor.

“I thought you said you were a frog!?” the princess said, unsure of how many more surprises she could handle today. Next thing she knew her grandmother would come back from the dead or something of the like.

“I am a frog-was a frog. I made a wish on a shooting star and I think it might have come true,” the woman-who-was-no-longer-a-frog said. Running her fingers through her thick curly hair, she tried to capture the way things felt when they weren’t covered in a constant slime. Her tongue, which was unnaturally short, explored the hard shapes that filled her mouth and her dry lips. The princess waited until she had finished taking in her new body, then asked her what she was going to do now.

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever been in the swamp. And this human world seems so much…wilder,” she said, pulling at the tunic and marveling at its rough texture against her fine skin. A small grin broke out across the princess’ face.

“Wild. Yes, I suppose it is, in its own way. I guess I’d always thought of that word describing your world, not mine,” the princess said, attempting to run her hand through her own tangled and still wet hair. The clock tower chimed three and the princess’ expression shifted.

“Shite, I nearly forgot. I’ve got a meeting with my father, but you can just stay here until I get back. Make yourself at home…but maybe don’t leave the rooms just yet. I’ve got to come up with some sort of explanation as to who you are and what those ladies saw.” The frog-woman nodded and watched the princess dash out of the room.

Exploring the princess’ chambers was a thousand times more exciting than anything she had ever done. Humans were so different from the swamp. Things like clothes, and beds -which the frog had to say she enjoyed immensely- were so strange. And yet, she understood why the slimeless beings had to cover themselves as she shuddered a bit at the breeze that was coming through an open window. Windows were also strange. She could not understand why one would only want to see the sky through a tiny rectangle.

As she went through each room, she saw more clothing strewn about, including an enormous pink floof which upon further inspection she realized was a dress not unlike the one the princess had been stuffed into earlier. Carefully removing the tunic, she slid into the pink gossamer gown. Staring into the mirror, she felt as though she were as beautiful as one of her stars.

“That looks stunning on you,” the princess said, causing the frog to whirl around as she found the princess standing by the entrance to the room.

“You should wear it tonight.” The princess strode across the room towards her dresser and pulled a delicate piece of jewelry the same color as the ball from a box. Gently draping it around the frog’s neck, she smiled.

“There, now you look like a proper princess,” she said, smiling at her work. The frog smiled too; around her neck hung a fine golden chain on the end of which dangled a shining star.

“What is tonight?” the frog asked, still transfixed by the reflection in the mirror. The princess let out a chuckle then replied.

“All the land’s been invited tonight, for the ball. But you probably didn’t get an invitation in the swamp.”

“Ball? Like the one your brother lost?” The frog looked up at the princess, brows wrinkled in a way that felt right to her body but entirely new and bizarre to the frog inside it.

“A ball is like a big celebration. We’ll dance and eat food until the stars come out and then we’ll set of fireworks. You’ll love those, they’re like shooting stars of all different colors.”

***

The princess was right. She did love the fireworks, but she couldn’t help staring at the princess the entire night. Because she was the most wonderful star the frog had ever seen.

Because she twinkled with the light of laughter.

And when she had shown the frog how to dance, her whole body had seemed to glow.

The princess watched the fireworks and the frog watched the princess and the stars watched them both until the sun came up and they lay entwined in the bed together. _So this is what it is to be human._


	7. Pride

Just on the other side of the window she could hear sounds of laughter and snippets of songs being broadcasted across the entire street. Occasionally someone would shout something through a megaphone and the crowd would respond with wild cheers. Her mother had already come into her room several times to tell her to quiet down, only to realize that the noise was coming from the tightly shut window. Her father was standing in front of their door with a sign that she couldn’t read from the window’s angle.

Without thinking, she double-tapped the picture of her best friend holding hands with another girl. That night at dinner her mother told her she was no longer allowed to see that friend and that the people she could follow would be restricted.

“Either you find a new teacher, or my daughter will leave this school!” That was how she ended up switching schools halfway through her junior year. The Catholic school was less fun.

Her older cousin took her to prom. It was tradition in her family, but all night she fantasized about dancing with the girl in the stunning gold jumpsuit.

By the time she finally found out what the parade was for, she was in college. A friend had asked if she wanted to come, saying it would be a good time and there would be dancing, and good food, and laughter. And there was.

For three years, she went to the parade with her friend.

Then with her girlfriend.

This year, it was wilder than ever before. People were hugging and kissing and everywhere she looked there were rainbows and smiles. Beside her, hand entwined with hers, was the most beautiful woman on the whole street, the whole world. Both of their faces were streaked with bright colors and in her back pocket there was a small box.

They were coming up on a street lined with brick houses when she got down on one knee. The crowd parted, and for a moment she saw an old man with a sign standing in front of one of the houses. He frowned and opened his mouth to shout something angry, but the crowd had already closed around them again and the music was too loud for her to hear any of his words.

She went to sleep that night beside her fiancée.

And the next year she went to that same parade, down that same street lined with brick houses, with her wife.

Her father’s sign was gone. But her father was not, and as she passed, pressing a kiss to her wife’s cheek, he smiled.


	8. Witches

There wasn’t much they didn’t like doing together. And Hallow’s Eve wasn’t the exception. The days had melted from hot and sweltering to sunny with the occasional breeze and finally into the cold grey skies bright with an electricity only the month of October could bring. The air was crisp, and the wind swirled about delightfully, not yet so sharp as those of winter. And the pumpkin flavors that dominated the store shelves were the most delicious of all.

“Pumpkin Spice Latte extra whip for Sara!”

Sara nearly sent her chair flying behind her as she dashed through the small crowd of people waiting for their coffee. Waving her hand wildly, she came up to the counter.

“Yes, that’s me! I’m also waiting on a kid’s hot chocolate no whip,” she said, a little out of breath. The barista gave her a bored smile and replied with a standard ‘that’ll be coming right up, miss’ then turned back to the row of coffee machines. The sweet scent of her pumpkin spice wafted into her nose and she nearly took a sip before catching a glance of Rosy in the shiny reflection of one of the espresso machines. Her eyeliner was immaculate today and her leather jacket paired with high dark boots sent a shiver down Sara’s spine. The day had barely begun and already she wanted nothing more than to push Rosy against a wall and kiss her fiercely until she couldn’t remember what anything else felt like.

“Here’s that kid’s hot chocolate. Have a nice day, ma’am.”

Barely acknowledging the man with a nod, Sara grabbed the cups and flounced her way over to Rosy still thinking about all the things she might do when they got home.

“Maybe we should cancel our plans,” Rosy said, giving Sara a toothy grin as she took her hot chocolate from her wife’s hand. For a moment Sara considered it, letting a favorite scenario of hers run through her mind and smiling as an audible moan escaped Rosy.

“The others would miss us, but… perhaps we could leave early?” Sara said, though it was a bit of a redundancy to say things out loud. Rosy nodded, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and looping her arm through Sara’s as they made their way out of the coffee shop. Their brooms were propped up against the side of the building under the watchful eye of Rosy’s familiar, a slinky black cat who had a far more ferocious hiss than claw.

The pair waited until most of the humans weren’t looking, then casually swung one leg over their brooms and took off, Rosy’s familiar wrapped around her neck like a funny looking shawl. As they broke through the clouds, Sara let out a whoop of joy, lifting one hand skyward while griping her latte in the other. That was another reason this time of year was nice, the clouds provided that extra layer of safety from the curious eyes of humans. Their brooms, of course, had confounding charms on them, so any human that did spot them would think it was simply a flock of birds or perhaps a passing airplane.

Landing was always the trickiest part, particularly in crowded areas like the pumpkin patch below, but Sara and Rosy paid little attention to the people milling about below. When the two women safely touched down, no one even so much as looked their way. They were just one of a few landing on the open field.

As they approached the entrance to the pumpkin patch, a woman who had been arguing with her raven for the last few minutes looked their way and waved.

“So glad you two could make it! We’ve got loads of fun things planned this year and as always the market is open for any of your potion, broom, or incantation needs,” she said, shooting her raven a few nasty looks as he tried to interrupt her squawking about his market stall that would provide all things needed for a familiar.

“Glad we’re here, Annie, and we’ll be sure to stop by your stall later, Alexander, Misty’s in need of a new MagiMouse.” Alexander squawked happily at Sara, then gave Annie – or as the other witches referred to her, Anastasia – a gentle peck.

Rosy let Misty hop down from her lofty perch and run free with the other familiars who were playing an intricate game of chase. Then they wandered through the rows of stalls set up along the side of the field, marveling at the shiny pewter cauldrons and taking in the aroma of dried herbs and spices. Finally, they came across their favorite stall.

An old woman sat behind the old wooden counter, measuring out yards of cloth while the knitting needles beside her clacked away. Hung on display were dark cloaks and knitted shawls and long dresses, but what Sara and Rosy loved most were the hats lining the back wall of the stall. They came in all sorts of wild colors and patterns, some with sashes and bows, others plain, but each and every one of them had a defined point. And every year like clockwork, Sara and Rosy would come to admire them and after much back and forth – although they both already knew the outcome – they would leave the coven gathering a few coins lighter, wearing their fabulous new hats.

“I’ve got two custom ones picked out just for you two this year,” the old woman croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Her familiar, an equally old dog going blind in one eye, did most of the talking usually. Then the old woman stood from her chair and went to the back, lifting two spectacularly pointed hats from a shelf.

“Here,” the old woman smiled, “they’re matching.” Then she waved her hand and two bunches of cloth wooshed through the air and folded neatly beside hats.

“I figured you’ve been so good to me over the years, I might as well give you back a little extra something.” Sara moved to place ten rather tarnished gold coins on the counter, but the woman stopped her.

“Free of charge. Just promise me you’ll try them on, so I can see how they fit.”

Ducking behind the stalls, Sara and Rosy changed out of their day clothes and into the delicate dresses. When they emerged, pointy hats and all, the old woman smiled so wide that for a moment her wrinkles vanished, and she seemed young again. Looking at Rosy, Sara understood what she was smiling about.

The little ruffles at the base of the dress accentuated her toned calves and the drawn in waist was defined gorgeously by two neatly tied bows. Sara’s breath hitched as her eyes brushed over the deep cut, the dress covered in dark strawberries on a near black backdrop, made her pale skin glow. And the hat. 

Seeing Rosy in her wide brimmed, star covered hat and that deeply cut strawberry dress made it all to easy to come up with an excuse to leave early. Annie, who like Rosy could read minds too, gave the young witches a knowing smile, and waved them goodbye. Alexander squawked a thanks towards Misty, who had her new MagiMouse in her mouth. And then home was only a few minutes away.

Dropping the keys twice, Sara got the door open on the third try and not even waiting until it was properly shut again, she kissed Rosy. Her hands were in that long black hair, then trailing down the curve of her breasts, relishing in the feel of the gauzy dress so thin that she had to be careful not to tear it in her excitement. Rosy fumbled with the buttons down the front of Sara’s pink dress, returning the kisses with a matching fervor. Before she could get the last button undone, the doorbell rang.

Rosy opened the door for the smiling children – a pirate, a fairy, and a little witch – and Sara held out an enormous cauldron of candy as they shouted: “Trick or Treat!”

As the little witch took her piece of candy, she stared up at the two of them in awe.

“Are you real witches?” They were still wearing their hats and Misty was in her usual perch on Rosy’s shoulder, both of them looking rather witchy. Sara smiled, handing her an extra piece of candy and Rosy winked as Misty purred something that could almost have been a hello.

The child’s parents smiled politely, then ushered her on to the next house. At the end of the night, when all the candy was gone, Sara and Rosy removed the confounding charm from their brooms and went for a night ride, cackling delightfully in the moonlight.


	9. Bounce

The meeting was going absolutely nowhere. Tasha had tried to present, but per usual her ‘partner’ had talked over her the entire time and then her boss had asked her to make a coffee run despite the fact that his secretary was practically sitting in his lap. She had resorted to drawing little swirls along the edge of her papers and added a tally at the top of the sheet every time one of the men said something stupid, so far there were twenty-five tallies. The meeting had only been going on for ten minutes, plus the time it had taken her to run downstairs for their precious lattes.

“So, you doing anything after work?” Tasha looked up from her doodles to see her ‘partner’ looming over her. Ordering her options from least likely to get fired to having a legal action taken against her, Tasha smiled curtly.

“I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.” In reality, her plans were to pick up a large tub of moose tracks ice cream and watch the latest season of Survivor.

Her ‘partner’ frowned.

“Are you sure? I thought you were just telling Andrea how you didn’t have anything going on-” Shit. She had been talking rather loudly about her lack of plans with Andrea two desks over before their meeting. Time to get more elaborate with her lie. Before she had to open her mouth though, the secretary strode up to them, heels clicking neatly against the floor.

“Actually, Tasha’s coming over to my place tonight. Girls only kind of thing,” she said, smoothly sliding between Tasha and the man. Tasha quickly nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, girls’ night,” she echoed. He glared at them for a moment, disgruntled, then turned with out another word to leave the conference room.

“The guys here can be real pricks sometimes,” Sandy, the secretary, said. Gathering up her papers, Tasha nodded again.

“Yeah, Greg’s been trying to ask me out for years. Never seems to get the hint though. Thanks again for getting me out of that one,” Tasha said, then having gathered up all of her papers and stuffed them into her bag, she turned to go. Sandy caught her hand.

“Wait, do you… maybe want to go out for a couple of drinks? We can talk about all the guys being douchebags and you can tell me about your presentation…if you want.”

There was a bubbly sort of feeling in Tasha’s gut and the thought of spending the evening alone was suddenly less appealing. Sandy was pretty, not Tasha’s usual type, but there was something about her genuine smile and those bright baby blues that drew her in. Survivor could wait and maybe there was something sweeter than ice cream in her future.

“I’d like that,” Tasha said, tucking a fly away curl behind her ear, “I’d like that a lot.”

***

Loud music and the aroma of fried food hit her first, then she took in the soft lighting and the tarnished wood furniture and finally, her eyes fell upon a rainbow flag behind the barkeep. So, her gut had been right, Sandy was looking for a proper date, not just a drinking partner. Tingles of excitement ran down Tasha’s spine, she hadn’t made the time for dating after her girlfriend of five years had moved out last summer. She was glad that she’d worn her nice cream shirt and that her nails weren’t chipped yet, even more fortunately, her curls were behaving and had just the perfect amount of bounce to them. Sandy always looked put together, but that came with her job.

Until now, Tasha had never really taken the time to see Sandy. She always greeted her in the morning and on days when she wasn’t working late would say goodbye on her way out, but other than a few words exchanged at the water dispenser or in the bathroom, they had hardly ever interacted. Now Tasha took in all of her at once, from the tiny gold heart she wore around her neck to the freckles that lightly dusted her nose and those eyes. They were as deep as the ocean and Tasha could have easily spent the entire day staring into them, mesmerized by their clarity.

Those eyes were looking at her now, quizzically.

“Do you know what you want to drink?” Sandy had to raise her voice a bit to be hear over the lead singer crooning away in the corner. A list of on tap and bottled beers found its way into Tasha’s hands as well as a tiny menu.

“The fried cheese is really good here! Their rainbow salad isn’t bad either,” Sandy said as they made their way to the bar. Sitting down at the far end, Tasha could finally speak without being drowned out by the band.

“This place is really neat. And fried cheese sounds amazing,” Tasha said, setting her bag down under her stool, the handle looped around the right foot. Sandy laughed.

“I do that too, to keep my bag from being stolen. And I’ll order us a basket of the cheese to start, while you figure out what you want to drink.” Tasha took a quick glance at the list, but she would have drunk anything at that point, even pee, if she could do it sitting next to Sandy. 

Their fried cheese arrived with their beers shortly after, and they settled into an easy conversation about Tasha’s work and how annoying it was to be one of five women in the office and how Greg needed to take the hint and just go back to his wife. Tasha wasn’t sure if it was the beer or being around Sandy that gave her a buzz, but she hoped it was the latter as the bubble from before worked their way through every inch of her.

As the night drew to a close and more and more people wandered out of the bar towards their beds, Tasha felt something sink in her chest. She still hadn’t mustered up the courage to kiss Sandy or ask her on another date. She wasn’t even sure if Sandy would want another date.

“All right, I’m going to have to ask you two lovely ladies to call a cab as we are closing for the night, but thank you for coming and we hope you’ll come again,” the bartender said, collecting their glasses and empty plates as the women eased their way out of the stools.

“I don’t know about you, but I had a lot of fun tonight,” Sandy said, handing Tasha her bag as she came out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, me too. This was so much better than going out with Greg or watching Survivor alone,” Tasha laughed, delighting as their hands briefly touched as she took her bag.

“You watch Survivor too? I love that show,” Sandy said, as they walked out onto the street to wait for their taxis. The streetlight fell across them perfectly. They were standing so close to each other that Tasha could feel Sandy’s breath across her cheek, less than one step and the gap between their lips would be closed.

“Can I…can I ki-” Tasha wasn’t sure who had taken the step, but their lips were electric where they met. Tasha’s cab honked, pulling them apart after a few breathless moments. Their hands had become intertwined and Tasha wanted nothing more than to pull Sandy into the cab with. But then Sandy’s cab pulled up too and after another honk, the moment had passed.

Nonetheless, Tasha bounced her way to the cab, not caring that the sun was starting to come up or that she had work in two hours. The night had been worth it. And Sandy, Sandy had kissed her and then looked at her with those blue eyes and had said.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”


	10. Alone

There was a stillness in the fog. One that unsettled her as she slunk across the top of the palace and seeped its way into her bones as she peered down through the great glass roof at the people swirling two by two across the dance floor. Her feet were soft against the stone, wrapped in cloth and each step was carefully chosen. And yet, each time she set her foot down, it felt like a gunshot in the quiet.

The guards were all asleep or else reveling among the other party guest and Aave was alone on the roof. Not even the usual birds perched on the stone statues were there. In truth it was better for her plan, but it sent shivers up her spine and every few moments she glanced over her shoulder. Then a sound from below echoed through the night air.

A woman’s laughter.

“You are too kind, Emrys.” Snippets of a conversation on one of the balconies, Aave cautiously inched herself closer to the edge of the roof.

The rough baritone of a man, Emrys, followed.

“I’m only telling the truth; you have hair spun like purest gold and eyes as beautiful as the forest. In all my travels I have never encountered a woman as fair as you, Serena – excuse me, Princess,” he corrected. Aave could see them now, the princess leaning against the edge of the balcony in a delicate white gown that clung to her body in all the right ways and Emrys, likely some snot nosed noble, standing far closer than was appropriate.

It shouldn’t matter to Aave what they were doing. This wasn’t her job, and the man who’d hired her wouldn’t appreciate her wasting time on some nobles a little drunk on wine. She should turn away and keep going. And yet, something about the way Emrys was standing made her blood boil. But it really wasn’t any of her business, was it? And the princess had called him ‘too kind’. Perhaps she wanted this.

Aave turned away from the balcony below and had nearly taken a step back from the edge when she heard scuffling.

Serena shrieked, trying to twist out of Emrys’ fierce grip, but his hand crushed her wrist. Without so much as a second thought, Aave leapt from her perch, knife already in hand. The princess shrieked again and Emrys turned, but by then it was too late. The blade sunk into his gut, hot blood spilling out and coating Aave’s hand. She twisted it once, then released him. He staggered forward and then dropped to his knees, gasping for breath as blood forced its way up out of his mouth. Then all was still again.

Aave wiped her blade clean on his tunic and made to disappear into the fog, but the princess called out.

“Wait!” Aave paused, turning to look back at those startling green eyes. Serena lifted her flowing skirts to step daintily over Emrys’ lump of a body and reached out for Aave.

“You saved me, thank you,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering in a way that made them seem even larger. 

“It was nothing,” Aave said, returning her knife to its sheath hidden under her skirt. Serena watched her for a moment.

“I don’t think it was. You don’t look like the sort of person who just does that for someone. I think-” Aave interrupted her.

“Look, I saved you, now I think it would be best if I left. I’m not exactly the sort of person Your Highness should be seen with.” The words cut Aave’s tongue as she spat them at the princess. If they had met under different circumstances…if Aave weren’t a stone cold killer, then maybe she would have stayed. But she was, and if anyone caught her here, chances were they would have her head on the chopping block.

“But I don’t even know your name. And they can’t see or hear us out here anyways, or else, don’t you think someone else would have come?” Serena flashed a small smile and took another step towards Aave. Her observation was probably correct, she was a princess after all, and Aave wanted to take the outstretched hand. But now was the perfect chance to complete her job and after all the revelers went home, she would have to risk a messy fight. She would turn away from the princess and clamber back up onto the roof.

“Aave. My name’s Aave.” That wasn’t the plan.

Serena’s smile spread even more and when she stepped closer again, Aave couldn’t help it. She slid her cool hand into Serena’s warm silky soft one.

“I’m Serena.”

“I heard.”

“I’d rather hear you say it,” Serena murmured, something in her voice had shifted. This wasn’t the politely laughing princess from before. There was a hunger in the way she said it and the hand in hers was suddenly hot.

“Serena.” The name fell from her lips in a half growl as those hot fingers trailed along Aave’s collar bone. Her own still sticky blood covered hand, which had hung loosely at her side until now, found its way up Serena’s arm and then Aave was gripping the princess’ face gently between her two hands.

Saving the princess hadn’t been the plan. And Aave certainly wouldn’t be paid for it, but when she looked into those deep green eyes, she knew that she’d never really had a choice. And the feel of Serena’s mouth on hers was worth more than an entire kingdom.


	11. Walls

It was hard for Silba to watch the nimble footed assassin kiss her princess. Harder still to watch Serena introduce her as a lady from the outskirts of the kingdom to the entire court. And every night she fought the urge to storm into Serena’s bedroom and pull the other woman off her.

But she kept her place outside the door, even when the bed creaked, and the princess’ moans echoed through the halls. When the Wraith left each night to do her bloody work, she kept her place. And when she returned in the morning to defile her princess with those scarlet stained hands, she did not move an inch.

This dangerous game of control went on for a week, a month, then as they neared two Silba snapped. Slamming the Wraith against the wall, long after the princess was asleep, she growled.

“Stay away from her.” She wanted to roar, but kept her tone hushed, barely audible in the dark hall. The Wraith smiled, her wicked teeth glinting as moonlight danced in through the windows.

“You know I can’t do that. The princess loves me, who would I be to deny her that?” her voice was cold, like the way Silba imagined her heart to be. Her words stung, mostly because they were true. The princess, her sweet, gentle princess, loved this monster.

A small cry came from within Serena’s chambers and for a moment Silba released the Wraith. Practically tearing the door open, she ran into the room, sword already drawn. Behind her, both knives in hand, came the Wraith. Serena lay in the middle of the large bed, sheets twisted and whimpering every so often.

“Serena, it’s alright, I’m here,” the Wraith soothed, stroking the princess’ tousled blond locks. The way that Serena leaned into that touch made Silba’s stomach turn, how could this monster have wormed her way so completely into her princess’ heart when Silba had been there, her knight in shining armor, the whole time.

Noting that other than the assassin comforting the princess there was no threat in the room, Silba retreated back to her post outside the door.

***

It was the night of the princess’ birthday. The air was warm and the whole kingdom seemed to buzz with excitement. There would be a grand feast, and all were invited. Silba, however, would spend the evening on the wall outlooking the city. She had discovered a note tucked under her pillow warning of an assassination attempt a few nights prior and tonight’s festivities lent themselves perfectly for someone to take advantage of the many people filling the palace grounds. There were too many guards in the great hall, and it would be foolish to murder the princess there, but the western wall was fairly unguarded and if Silba were the one infiltrating the castle it would be first choice of entry.

The setting sun bathed Silba in golden light and she imagined that she was back on her father’s farm, not a member of the Royal Guard. And Serena was there too, standing next to her, not a princess. Holding hands in the setting sun, free of their responsibilities and the Wraith and the assassin.

Her eyes flew open, hand on her sword in an instant. The assassin! Silba scanned the ramparts for anything out of place, but other than the faint laughter from the great hall all was quiet. Too quiet. There should have been another guard one hundred paces down the ramparts, but he was nowhere to be found.

Jogging towards his post, Silba cursed as she felt for a pulse on his limp body. With the image of his gutted form, Silba made for the corridor that would lead her into the palace and hopefully hot on the heels of the princess’ would be assassin.

She could hear the princess laughing in the corridor behind her and Silba hoped for once that the Wraith was with her. If she did not make it to the princess in time, at least the Wraith could hold off an attacker. Dashing down the stone hall, Silba caught sight of a cloak swishing around a corner. They were heading to the princess’ chambers at a brisk pace and if Silba did not hurry, the princess would arrive first, unaware of the danger.

Throwing the door open, Silba saw the princess and the Wraith kissing on the bed. There was no sign of the attacker she had seen go in only moments before.

“Silba? What are you doing in here? Is everything alright?” Serena questioned, pulling back from the Wraith just the tiniest bit. If there hadn’t been imminent danger, Silba would have rejoiced at the motion, but that was not her circumstance. Instead she swept the room frantically, determined to find the danger before it could even so much as displace a hair on the princess’ head. The Wraith seemed to understand what she was doing and rose from the bed.

Pulling back the heavy curtains, Silba heard a shout of warning from behind her. The Wraith was on the other side of the room and the princess was standing unprotected by the bed. The assassin, clad in a dark hood and simple leather armor, cut across the room like a shadow. Silba raised her sword, preparing to strike him down as he moved towards the princess.

She watched in horror as the attacker dove past her swinging blade and towards the princess, the dagger sinking into warm flesh. Serena screamed, falling to her knees as Silba drove her blade through the leather tunic of her attacker, ending his life swiftly as she punctured his heart. The girl, bleeding out on the floor, would take longer. The princess sobbed as Silba knelt down beside her, trying to pull her away from the Wraith’s body.

“Please, I’ll do anything, please, you have to save her!” Serena’s screams pierced Silba’s heart and she wished there were something she could do. The Wraith’s eyes were glassy with pain and blood pooled out around her, her hand twitched feebly, reaching for something.

“Serena…” she croaked, blood staining her lips as she lifted her head in one last attempt to see those emerald eyes. The princess broke out of Silba’s grip and scrambled across the floor, slipping her hand tightly into the Wraith’s.

“I’m right here, my love, just hold on. Please-” Serena let out a heart shattering sob as the Wraith let out on final gasp of breath, her chest stilling as her eyes stared lifeless up at the ceiling.

Silba gently closed them, shutting those two dark orbs forever, and lifted Serena from the bloody stones. They were alone now, both the assassin and the Wraith still on the floor, the other guards not yet arrived. But Silba took little delight in this fact. Her princess, her love, was staring with hollow eyes at the pool of blood on the floor.

“She’s gone. Aave’s gone.” Aave, the Wraith, was indeed gone. And Silba should have been rejoicing the monster’s death, but she could not find an ounce of cheer within her. It was like her princess’ pain was hers and the hole that was in Serena’s chest ached in Silba’s too. There were no words she could say to comfort the broken princess.

So Silba just held her in the dying light.


	12. Bubbles

It was difficult to breathe air. Every time she drew in a breath, her throat felt parched and dry and her chest burned as if someone was stabbing her. And these breaths were not fulfilling. She had to take large gulps, each one excruciating, and still she needed more. This was nothing like what the witch had promised her when she had signed away her voice.

But diving back into the waves behind her was not an option anymore. Her gills had closed, the openings scarred over and aching every time she accidentally brushed them. The world that had looked so warm and bright and fantastical was nothing but rough and cold and lonely. Down below the constant chatter of her sisters had accompanied her, here it was silent. She could not even fill it with her own siren’s song.

The witch must be taking enormous delight in her new treasure. Her cackle would sound nothing less than angelic with her stolen voice and her triumph over the naïve sea princess would surely bring her joy for years to come.

A thick salty tear squeezed its way out of the corner of her eye. The sensation was strange and unwelcome as the salt reminded her of the sweet taste of home, one that she could never return to. And as the wind cut across her face, the wet streak down her cheek became unbearably cold.

***

“I saw her wash up, she’s got to be here somewhere,” Reina called out to the rider beside her.

“Are you sure? I mean, we’ve been searching up and down this stretch of the beach for almost two hours and the sun’s nearly set. Maybe it was a trick of the light-” Her brother Robert was cut off mid-sentence by a bright flash as something reflected brilliantly off of the sun’s dying light.

“There! I told you,” Reina said, pressing her knees into her horse’s flank. As they got closer to the glittering object, it began to take shape.

A fish skin covered in blue and gold scales lay on the sand as if it had been shed by a snake. Beside it lay a woman.

She would have seemed fairly ordinary, had it not been for the luminescent blue of her hair. Reina had known that this would be a special evening when she had set out with her brother in tow after seeing the sparkling form of a woman wash up from her tower. And yet, already her expectations had been set too low. This was beyond anything she had ever seen.

The woman opened her eyes slowly, blinking in the glow of the sun. She turned to face the sea and Reina watched as she took in a long rasping breath, then another. Not daring to approach her, Robert stayed by the horses, holding them firmly by the reigns. But Reina had to see her.

“Hello?” Reina said, feeling the soft sand give a bit under her heavy boots. The woman shot up from where she had lain, and Reina almost took a step back as her brown eyes met two glowing orbs. The woman’s eyes were like none Reina had ever seen. The iris was enormous, taking up most of the eye, and the color was close to that of dying embers or the sun setting fiery behind them. And their depth. Those eyes could hold an entire ocean.

“Hello?” Reina tried again, holding out her hands in a peace offering. The woman did not respond, only cocked her head to the side as if asking a question.

“Can you speak Common? If not, I know a little Pesca and my brother’s fluent in Marinarus.”

The woman shook her head slowly, then pointed to her throat. She repeated the motion a few more times until Reina asked.

“You can’t speak? There’s something wrong with your voice, is that it?” The woman nodded vigorously at this, her golden eyes lighting up. She shivered a bit, wrapping her arms around her bare body as a cool breeze swept in off the sea.

“Robert! Bring the horses and give me your cloak, she’s must be freezing,” Reina said, turning away from the woman for a moment and signaling for her brother. He came quickly but hesitated a few paces away from the woman.

“The cloak, Robert.” He dug around in the saddle bags and pulled out the soft brown cloak, handing it to his impatient sister. Reina took it and offered it to the woman.

“Here, take this. It’ll be warmer that way, and when we get back to the palace you can have some of my clothes. That is, if you want to go back to the palace? We can figure out where you’re from and help you get back there…” Reina trailed off as the woman shook her head sadly.

She pointed towards the sea, then back to herself and the shed fish skin until Reina realized.

“You can’t go back, can you? You’re from the sea, a mermaid?” The woman shook her head, making a hissing noise in retaliation to the word _mermaid_.

“Not a mermaid. Got it. What’s your name, or do you even have one?” The woman nodded and pointed at the shining water behind her.

“Ocean? Sea? Water? Robert, help me out here.” At everyone of Reina’s guesses the woman shook her head, a small grin flashing across her face each time Reina got it wrong.

“I dunno? Wave? Foam? Hold on, she’s pointing at me, am I getting something right? Foam?” Robert’s head fell as the woman shook her head again, however, Reina perked up.

“Wave, it’s something to do with wave, isn’t it?” The woman smiled and nodded, then pointed at Robert again.

“Robert, what’s wave in Marinarus?”

“Ola, why you think that’s it?” The woman, Ola, smiled and clapped, nodding her head in confirmation.

“I like that, Ola. It’s very pretty, like you,” the words had escaped Reina’s mouth before she could fully realize what they meant. Instead of being taken a back, Ola only offered up another smile. She rose from the sandy shore and attempted to throw the cloak over herself a few times, until Reina finally took it from her and gently draped it around her bare shoulders. Ola caught Reina’s wrist as she adjusted the hood with a small hand, the fingers slightly webbed and the skin cool to the touch.

“What is it?” Reina asked, trying to find the answer in Ola’s eyes, but only confusing herself in the depth. Ola took Reina’s hand and pointed at her with it. Then pointed to herself. Reina was getting better at guessing, but this gesture was just as confusing as trying to decipher Ola’s eyes.

The air had grown even colder and there was barely a sliver of light left for them to see by as they rode towards the palace. Ola, sitting behind Reina, clung to her tightly as the horse trotted up the sandy slope.

They approached the palace just as the last of the sunlight had disappeared and lights began to wink into existence in the windows like stars. Ola’s glowing eyes widened as Reina helped her down from the horse.

Ola had never seen so much light before. Below the waves, everything was filtered green and in the deeper parts where her family spent most of their time there was hardly any light at all. She had known of the sun and the stars had guided her many times before when she had lost her way home, but this was different. These were little bubbles of light, framed by a dark and imposing stone wall. But it was warm light, not like the stars, who were framed by the black of night. These were like small suns. And Ola could have wondered at the sight for days, but Reina, the land princess, pulled her away from it.

“Come on, you must be hungry and tired too,” Reina said, taking Ola’s cool hand in her own and leading her through the gate and into the warmth of the palace. Each time she touched Ola, each time Ola let Reina touch her, small bubbles of excitement rushed through her.

Robert lead the horses to the stable, muttering something about the risks of bringing this woman into the court, but Reina ignored him. He’d seemed a little more distant on the ride up and he still wouldn’t go near Ola, but she supposed he was just wrapping his head around the woman who had come from the sea. Reina, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped chattering since Ola had arrived. Ola’s hand tightened around hers as a servant bustled past them.

“It’s alright, she’s just bringing my father his dinner…oh.” The woman was carrying an enormous red lobster, still steaming from the kitchen. Then Ola tugged on Reina’s hand and Reina turned to look at her. Spreading across Ola’s face was a grin and she let out a hissing laugh, the only sort of noise she seemed capable of making other than the rasping breaths she had taken in the beginning.

“You’re making a joke, right. I mean, you must eat something and what else is there in the ocean besides fish.” Ola smiled again, and this time Reina caught a glimpse of tiny sharp teeth. Then it hit her. Not a mermaid.

“You’re a siren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.... (look out for Day 26 - Splash)


	13. Spirit

There are hardly any places left where you can feel your soul connect with the earth. These days it’s all cold and formal and gray. Not that gray is inherently bad, it’s the color of thunder after all and a good earl grey tea is delightful on a cool windy day. The cold isn’t bad either. Take the holiday season, when we’re all wrapped up in sweaters and blankets and stay inside with mugs of hot cocoa preferably topped with heavy cream or marshmallows, as an example of the good sort of cold. And formal can be nice. Neutral, yes, formal can be neutral. But it’s the combination of these things that becomes unbearable. It cages us. Locks us into the confines of the city. Or the interweb. Really cuts of the soul from everything else. And in some people, the soul is silenced. But not here.

Here it is warm, even in winter. And there are no cars filling the air with gases. Or steel and glass buildings towering over everything. Here, you can see the sky. The air is sweet, and after each breath you’ll want for more. Nothing like the horrible coughing that sits at the back of your throat in the metropolis. Here the ground is so soft that you needn’t wear shoes and if you so desire you needn’t wear anything at all.

Among the trees, you can simply be.

When you reach this place, you will find that you cannot go back. It would be impossible to capture your soul, already soaring like a bird among the clouds. And how cruel to cage it again in harsh sounds and smells and sights of the city.

This place is home.

And I can feel the girl coming closer, I reach out and draw her in. Beckoning with a breeze that calls her name. She leaves her car behind, the last remnant of the soulless world. Each step she takes towards me is lighter than the last. Already she is smiling, the sweet air filling her lungs. She has left everything behind, but in her heart, there is no regret, and, in her soul, there is only laughter.

The sun is always rising here, if not in truth than in our imagination. The sky is painted a vibrant blue, then drips into soft pinks and pale yellows. Everything is delicate here. And if it were not for the long and winding path one must take to get here, this paradise would have surely been destroyed. Turned into a city full of dead things.

She has shed her shoes. Her toes rejoice and the balls of her feet sink into the dirt. She is getting closer, and her soul begins to twist and loop around her, ready to be free.

My stump is only a few paces away now. She can see it and covers the ground quickly, excitement filling her as she drops her map, a map she did not really need. And she leaps.

I wonder at those powerful legs, at the way her hair plays in the wind. Her arms are at her sides as if reaching for my brothers and sisters beside her. I lift her up so that she seems to levitate above my stump and feel her soul tear itself free of doubt and fear and worry and anger. My own is quick to follow and I know that come spring new life will emerge from my stump.

A new spirit to guide others home.


	14. Coat

She had spent hours detailing the hem with fine threads of gold and even though her fingers were cramped, and her eyes strained against the dying light she would spend many hours more until the quiet hours of the early morning to finish Madam’s project. A quick pause in her work to light a new candle and hurried bite of bread and she was back to the swirling in and out of the needle. The deep black fabric had taken months to tailor and embroider and now that she was reaching the end an electricity rushed through her tight fingers. Just a little bit more and she would be done. Her needle barely made its way into the pincushion as she let her eyes droop for a moment.

“Thea, darling, wake up. Don’t you know better than to fall asleep in your chair, you’ll only get horrible back problems from it and not an ounce of good rest,” a drawling voice said from somewhere to the right of Thea’s head. As she lifted herself from the soft cloth still spread out on the table from the night before, the voice let out a gasp.

“Oh Thea, you really have outdone yourself! I’ll be the talk of the evening. Now come on, let’s try it on, shall we?”

Thea rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times as she took in the woman before her. Then she looked at the embroidery on the table. And finally, at the time.

“Is it really so late already!? I’m so sorry, Madam, I would have brought it to you if I hadn’t-” the words rushed out all at once, but Madam simply waved her hand.

“No matter, I’m not late yet. And besides, I enjoy coming to the shop.” At this, Madam cast a sweeping glance across the small shop, filled to the brim with bolts of cloth and half-finished projects, landing finally on the display of hats that was tucked into the far wall. Her eyes lingered on the one at the end. A velveteen midnight black number with a single shimmering gold white plume. Thea always told her customers that it had already been bought, just for those moments when Madam eyed it. Those moments were almost as delicious as when Madam gazed longingly at her, both the seamstress and the hat barely out of reach.

“Well, let’s keep it that way. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for making you anymore than fashionably late, which with this piece should be the case,” Thea said, squashing down her exhaustion as she lifted her latest and finest work from the table. Madam grinned like a child on Christmas morning as Thea helped her into it. The cut impeccable and the colors perfectly suited to her dark skin, the coat truly was a masterpiece.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how much time you put into this but believe me when I say that it was worth it. I mean, have you ever seen someone look this…” Madam drew out the pause, “fabulous.” Twirling in the tiny shop, she caught sight of the clock, ticking away the time until she would be plain rude late.

“Well, I suppose, we’d better get a move on then,” she said, adjusting the pads in her bustier. Thea admired the glittering top section that covered Madam’s collarbone and cleavage in a way that only made her want to run her hands along them more. She really would be the talk of the evening, if not the year.

“Have fun without me, but not too much,” Thea laughed, shooing Madam out the door so that she wouldn’t be any later than she already was, then tacked on a stern warning, “And if you even so much as think about letting anything happen to that coat…”

Madam smirked as she stepped up into the waiting carriage.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said in a sing-song voice that filled the quiet street and then with a great clattering noise as the carriage rolled across the cobblestones she was gone.

***

Loud laughter pulled Thea away from her needlework and she looked up to see Madam saunter in, shoes dangling precariously from one hand and her coat still draped fabulously across her figure. She looked so out of place in the poorly lit clutter of the shop and yet, Thea imagined that she was even more beautiful here than she had been at her socialite party. Her eyes shone brighter around Thea and she always seemed to breathe easier when it was just them.

“How was it?”

“The usual, Garret got drunk and puked on the duchess then she slapped him with her fan, and I stole the show. Really nothing too out of the ordinary.” Madam breezed through the shop, until she was standing in front of the hat display. She tried on a green one and turned to Thea. “What do you think?

“I think it would go well with Garret’s puke,” Thea giggled, “green is, and I cannot stress this enough, not your color.”

“Alas, well, how bout this one?” Madam gently ran her fingers along the brim of her hat, stroking the plume as she locked eyes with Thea.

“I’d like it better without the dress.”

Despite the October chill starting to set in and the only heat coming from the flickering candle, the shop had suddenly risen in temperature by quite a few degrees. Madam’s eyes glinted like a cat’s and she ran her tongue along her lips as she slowly unzipped herself. The dress, and with it her breast pads, fell to the floor and Thea marveled at the beauty before her. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror, Madam’s hands went to cover her bare chest, blushing slightly even though it wouldn’t have bothered Thea.

“I have something for you,” Thea said as she grabbed the bra from the top drawer of her desk. Stepping around a haphazardly stacked pile of cloth, she stood in front of Madam and held it out for her to see.

“Is that…?”

“I thought it might make you feel more comfortable, just until we’ve got enough saved up for a trip to the witches. I love you,” Thea said, sliding the straps of the padded bra over Madam’s shoulders and fastening it, the two women suddenly close and yet impossibly far from each other. Madam’s breath hitched and the coat nearly slipped from her shoulders as Thea kissed her.

“I love you too, thank you.” Thea only nodded before kissing her again, the bolts of cloth behind her tumbling to the floor as they pressed against each other fiercely. The coat dropped to the floor as Thea and Madam crashed together again and again until they were lying together in twisted up bolts of fabric. The only piece of clothing between them, the hat, still somehow perched impeccably on Madam’s head and their smiles, wide and exhausted as they held each other in the dark shop as if bound by a single thread of gold.


	15. Laughter

Bev’s grandmother’s house was half a mile off exit 83 and sat nestled between a river, that threatened to flood nearly every year but only did once every five, and a forest that had seen better days. Behind the house, fields stretched out until they hit the mountains and in front, lining the driveway, was a garden.

In summertime that garden would bloom all sorts of different flowers, a rainbow of allergies as Bev’s mother always called it, and in the fall, when Bev and her family came like clockwork every year, it was filled with pumpkins and butternut squashes and a few stalks of corn ready to be harvested for Thanksgiving dinner. There wasn’t much in the winter, and in the spring the first shoots and buds would start to peak out from the thin layers of frost. But Bev hardly ever saw the garden in those seasons, busy with school and work and unable to make the long drive.

The one week around Thanksgiving was called the Sacred Week. And no one was allowed to miss it. Which meant that the whole family, including Bev’s cousins and great-aunts and all the family dogs, would be squishing into the modest farmhouse for the best home-cooked meal of the year. Bev and her mother and sister were the first to arrive, having taken an extra day off just to make the drive.

“Granmama! We’re here,” Joanie called. Joanie was Bev’s older sister and she had just started her third year of college. She had also recently dyed the bottom half of her curls bright green. Bev and her mother had a bet that Granmama would make her dye it back before the week was up. And the face that Granmama made when she looked up from her spot in the dirt, pulling up carrots, told them that Joanie would be the one paying up.

“Aye! ¿Mi niña, que haces a tu pelo?” Granmama rose from the ground and made her way across the uneven path, shaking her head at Joanie as she went. They embraced and then Granmama turned on Bev’s mother.

“Sabías de eso, Clarissa? How can you let her walk around like this, so unprofessional! Did I not teach you better-” Clarissa suppressed a small grin as she wrapped her arms around her mother.

“No, no sabía. But Mama, it’ll wash out with time and I think she rocks it,” Bev’s mother said as Granmama finally made her way over to Bev, still shaking her head and making a little tut-tut sound.

“ ‘Rocks it’ jaja, es muy fea. ¿Qué piensas, Bev, quieres pelo verde también?” Bev quickly shook her head, knowing that there was only one correct response. Joanie gave both her and their mother a betrayed look.

“Hey, you went and did that at two am with your friends behind my back, that one’s on you,” Clarissa laughed as Granmama collected her carrots and led them inside.

The house hadn’t changed a bit since last year, or the year before that, or ever really. In Bev’s mind this house had always been here, even before humans or even the dinosaurs. It had certainly been there longer than Bev’s Granmama and her great-grandmother too, but the family couldn’t trace it back much further.

The others slowly trickled in over the next few hours, the driveway filling up with cars and one camper that some of the cousins would stay in to make more room in the house. The dogs ran free in the woods and some of the children chased around after them in a big game of tag. Bev spent most of her time in the kitchen, helping her Granmama peel vegetables and listening to her stories about her aunts and uncles. Her father used to always join them too, making his famous apple pie that his momma had taught him to make back in Louisiana. But he had been gone for the past five years and they hadn’t had apple pie since.

“Beverly, no necesitas pelar las papas con tan esfuerza. See, it’s easier like this.” Granmama took the peeler and Bev’s potato gently and drew the peeler in long soft strokes.

“Gracias, Granmama,” Bev replied, taking the potato and peeler back and continuing with a noticeable difference in effort. She relaxed her hand and asked her Granmama, “do you remember Papa’s laughter? The loud kind that came from his belly.”

“Si, but why are you asking me this? Wouldn’t your mami or Joanie be able to-”

“No, Granmama, no. Ellas no entienden. You lost your papi when you were little too.”

“Yes, and I miss him very much. Pero, Beverly, no hay nada que podemos hacer. Ellos están con los angelitos ahora, mmm,” Granmama said softly.

“I know, I just miss him. And I miss his laughter, how happy he always was,” Bev said as she set down the last potato and started on the carrots. Her Granmama looked at her for a moment and then bent down to pull something from the cupboard.

“Here, why don’t we make your papi’s apple pie? I’ve got some apple slices in the freezer left over from the harvest and we’ll use the pie crust that I made yesterday for the pumpkin pie,” Granmama said, setting the pie pan on the counter and rooting through the freezer for the apple container.

The two of them all but abandoned their other cooking and worked on getting the apples just right. Then they carefully needed the pie crust into the dish and filled it with the apple compote. To top it off, Bev gently crisscrossed the remaining dough and then it was ready to slide into the oven.

It was truly impressive how many people could fit into Granmama’s dining room. And even more impressive that they all sat at one table. Granpapi had made it before Bev had been born just for Granmama so she could have her whole family in the one room. On it were plates upon plates of food, steaming hot and wafting delicious aromas into the air. Bev sat between Joanie and Granmama and watched as everyone tucked into her mashed potatoes and carrots with joy. But what she was really waiting for was for the plates to be scraped clean so that she could bring out her Papa’s apple pie.

“May I have your attention?” Granmama whacked her spoon against the side of her glass until even the little ones were looking at her.

“We have a very special dessert this year and I hope that you all enjoy it and take a moment to remember the familia that isn’t here with us right now,” she glanced to Granpapi’s spot that was always left open beside her and then to the place where Bev’s father would have sat next to Clarissa. Then Bev made her way back into the room, piping hot pie cradled in between her hands. She set it down in front of her Granmama reverently and offered her the knife the way her Papa always used to.

A few tears escaped down Bev’s cheek as Granmama handed her the first slice.

“Te quiero mucho, Beverly,” she said and set the knife down so she could properly hug her granddaughter.

“And if you ever think about dying your hair green, I will send a word to your Papi up in heaven myself.”

Bev laughed and for a moment she imagined her Papa was laughing right beside her.


	16. Hidden

There was something to be said about muggles’ quaint customs. The carved pumpkins that sat on the front porch of nearly every house in the quiet street glowed softly, providing warmth to the windy and drab October night. The ‘frightening’ decorations and the children’s eager anticipation of sweets were entirely nonsensical of course, but Siobhan couldn’t help but smile whenever she saw them in their costumes. Some even dressed up as witches.

Not like real witches. The only witch Siobhan had ever seen wear a pointy hat unironically was Minerva, and her sister’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly the most mainstream witch to begin with. And other than ministry officials and Professors, hardly anyone wore the antique style of robes that the muggles dressed their children in.

This night was not just a muggle holiday though. Tonight, history had been made and at long last, Siobhan could return to London. Her sister had sent her over seas to America, where magic was even more strictly hidden, at the beginning of the Wizarding War. But just minutes ago she had received a floo message telling her that Voldemort was dead, and his followers had scattered into the wind. She had apparated to a seaside town in Nova Scotia – MACUSA had strict regulations on portkeys – and had swiftly turned half of a broken wheel into a portkey that would take her back home.

Her sister’s house, the one she shared with Minerva, was in a muggle neighborhood and sat nestled between two nearly identical looking brick houses. It was the only house on the street without a pumpkin and the lights appeared off from the outside. But Siobhan could see through the charm and sounds of laughter and joy could be heard from the sidewalk. 

She hung the gray trench coat, which had been a gift from her sister, on the rack and made her way down the hall. The celebration was already in full swing and Siobhan was nearly bowled over by a man who had clearly had too much firewhiskey. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her work robes and used a quick wave of her wand and a muttered spell to transfigure them into a soft pink dress with a neatly placed slit and a bow to tie it all up nicely in the front. Before Siobhan could make her way across the room to where her sister was standing, a woman she didn’t recognize clapped her on the shoulder.

“He’s gone! You-Know-Who’s really gone, oh isn’t this just a marvelous night!?” Siobhan nodded, but quickly brushed her off and continued towards her sister.

“Siobhan, you’re here! I wasn’t sure how long it’d take you, how’d you get here so fast, I thought for sure you’d fly…” Siobhan’s older sister, Tad, said. She looked tired, and her eyes were hollow, drained. These past years had clearly been hard, and Siobhan wished for the thousandth time that her sister had let her stay, danger be damned.

“I took a portkey. The flight across the Atlantic isn’t exactly the most enjoyable and it’s too far to apparate. But the trip was fine and I’m home now,” Siobhan smiled at those last words. Standing across from her sister after the years apart, both of them in one piece, was the best feeling in her entire life. Passing her N.E.W.T.S had been a close second.

Minerva came into the room looking equally drained and cut their embrace short as she said something low and unintelligible to Tad.

“Are you sure?” Tad asked, looking at her partner with worry.

“Quite,” Minerva said, then turned to Siobhan briefly. “It’s nice to see you again, Siobhan. Welcome home.”

Siobhan nodded and squeezed her sister’s hand.

“I’ll be right back, Siobhan, sorry to leave you like this again so suddenly, but there’s something Minerva and I need to take care of,” Tad said as she led them through the reveling wizards and witches into the hall. Reaching for a vial from one of the shelves, she gave Siobhan one last look.

“Tad, wait, take me with you. Whatever it is you have to do, I can help,” Siobhan said, grabbing her coat from the hook and preparing to transfigure her dress back into something more practical. Her sister wasn’t going to leave her again. Minerva gave Tad a glance and then her sister replied.

“I’m sorry, I wish I could, but this is too delicate a matter and-” she shook her head, unable to form the words that would make it alright that they were being separated again, even if she was going to come back soon. “Look, it really shouldn’t take long and then we can do all of our catching up and celebrating and, Siobhan, I love you.”

Then Tad leaned in to press a quick kiss to Minerva’s lips and the two witches stepped out the door and apparated into the night.

In the morning, after Siobhan had cleaned the partygoers mess with a few sweeps of her wand, she found herself standing in front of a wall filled with photographs. Each one holding a waving inhabitant and a date, scrawled neatly into the bottom right corner.

Her sister and Minerva still weren’t home yet.

Then a sharp cracking noise in the yard made Siobhan whip around, wand drawn and ready to take on an attacker. Pulling back the curtain, she relaxed as she saw that it was only Minerva. Only Minerva, where the hell was Tad?

“Where is she!? Where’s my sister? Minerva you both said it’d be quick, you’d be back soon, so where is my sister?” She didn’t care that the shouting might attract muggles, or that Minerva looked even more drained than she had last night. All Siobhan wanted was her sister, whom she had just gotten back.

Minerva sucked in a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand, two wands hanging limply from her left.

“Where is she, Minerva?” This time Siobhan was soft, her voice barely above a whisper, begging for an answer other than the one she already knew. Her sister wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Siobhan. It wasn’t meant to be dangerous. She-”

“Don’t, don’t say it, it doesn’t matter that she did it for me,” Siobhan’s voice broke and she stumbled across the lawn into Minerva’s arms. Hollow sobs, the same as the day her parents had died, echoed across the street. The unforgiving November sky stretching cold and glaring white above as Minerva brought her inside.

They sat together on the couch, not saying a word, unable to. Minerva still clung to the broken wand and Siobhan finally found it in herself to gently pry it out.

“ _Reparo_.” The spell was easy enough and the wood gently eased itself back together, but it was only fixed on the surface. The magic within the wand had died with its owner, with her sister. There were no more tears left for Siobhan to squeeze out and she just sat there, holding the wood, and staring at the wall of moving pictures.

“Are they…are they the ones who died?” she finally asked, turning towards Minerva. She nodded in reply and then withdrew a small photograph from her robes.

“Here. This one’s hers,” Minerva said, her own voice cracked and raw from presumably crying as well. She pressed the smiling Tad into Siobhan’s hands and then rose from the couch.

“The house is yours. I haven’t got a use for it now and I know she’d want you to have it. I, I think I’d best leave now.” She made her way to the door, sending one last glance at the home she had once shared with Tad. “I’ll see you at the funeral, Siobhan, take care.”

Siobhan nodded farewell, clutching Tad’s wand and picture in her hands as she watched the cat slink away down the street. One of the smiling pumpkins had been smashed, its orange guts spread out across the cobblestones. Siobhan couldn’t bring herself to add Tad’s photo to the wall and instead she let it fall to floor, the wand clattering beside it. Then she left, wrapped up in her gray coat against the November wind. The house slowly disappearing behind her as her charm worked its way across the bricks, hiding it away with her heart still lying on the cold hardwood floor.


	17. Stolen

The ground was warm beneath her and she delighted in the taste of the night air on her tongue. She felt every little movement in the grass, every shake. Even the mouse, scurry along on tiny paws, sent vibrations rippling through her jaw. It would not be fast enough; her long body would unfurl and strike before the mouse would even have the chance to prick up its ears. All she had to do was wait.

Victorious in her hunt, she slithered back through the dirt, grateful that the day’s heat had not yet dissipated into a cool night. From afar she could feel the villagers dancing, their feet striking the ground rhythmically. There would be lots of food, but she wouldn’t have need for it, the mouse comfortably settled in her stomach. Perhaps in the morning, she would enjoy her mother’s special yams or fried plantains.

She slithered into the hut, empty now as everyone was gathered at the center of the village, and slipped back into her human form, lying limp on the bed.

Blinking her eyes gently, she opened them and relished in sight again. Her snake form slithered happily up her ankle and settled in the usual spot around her neck. It was always strange to stand on two feet again after sliding along the ground for so many hours, and she missed the vibrations that could alert her of any movement in her vicinity. But certain things were just more practical in this body. And it wasn’t safe to leave human forms unattended for long. Unlike animal forms, who held a fragment of the soul at all times, human forms were lifeless.

Wrapping the brilliantly dyed tunic that lay out on the bed for her around herself, she made her way towards the sound of celebration.

“There you are, Yuza. I’ve made your favorite,” Yuza’s mother called as she joined the rest of her village gathered around the bonfire, having paused their dancing to enjoy the feast. Yuza shook her head, despite the incredible smells in the air.

“I had a successful hunt but save some of those yams for me. I’ll eat them in the morning,” Yuza said, greeting her mother’s animal form with a skritch behind the ears. The energetic dog, brown flecked basenji, wagged its tail excitedly as Yuza hit the sweet spot. Yuza’s mother smiled at her and greeted Yuza’s snake form with a gentle stroke on the head.

Though the night had grown cold since Yuza’s return from her hunt, it was delightfully warm beside the fire and she slipped into her snake form once again, leaving her mother to bring her human body back to the hut. There was something wonderful about feeling the joyous vibrations of the dancers and the hot stones beneath her were delicious. The rhythm lulled her, and her second eyelid drooped down.

Then the rhythm was broken and Yuza shot through the crowd after her mother’s basenji, who was barking wildly.

She could hear her mother shouting, but she was still too far away from the hut to make out the words. There were frantic vibrations as her mother ran around the small room, her basenji form chasing around after her as well. Then Yuza felt it, and her cold blood turned to ice.

Her human form was gone.

It took Yuza a few moments to process, her snake brain not quite equipped to deal with the speed of her thoughts as it hit her over and over again. Her human form was gone. To take a human form was the greatest violation and despite the fact that her soul was whole, she felt fragmented and broken.

“Yuza, we’ll get it back. I promise,” her mother said, stroking her basenji’s head as she reassured Yuza. Unable to speak words that her mother could understand, she just flicked her tongue.

“There was that rumor, about raiders who are stealing bodies. Perhaps they are staying in the ruined temple, the one up north?” Yuza’s mother continued. Yuza hissed as she planned the journey, hardly listening to her mother. She would leave in the morning, to make the most of the warm sun, and hopefully by dusk she would have reached the temple. It had been erected for some fallen god and now lay fallen itself. Yuza disliked it there, the way was always too cold for her liking, but if it meant getting her human form back, she would make the journey.

It was cold here and Yuza hoped that she would reach the temple ruins soon. A mouse scurried past her and she nearly leaped out at it, but stopped herself, knowing that it would only slow her down. She had eaten the day before, and the nearly digested mouse would have to do until she reached her human form.

Beneath her the gritty sand suddenly thinned out and she found herself slithering along smooth and deliciously warm stone. There were a few cracks in the tiles, but they hardly bothered Yuza as she made her way through what could only be the temple.

She could sense her human body nearby, but it was surrounded by five warm humans, their animals nowhere to be found. Perhaps they did not have any. Yuza had heard stories about a strange band of cruel soulless people who had no other form, but she had never thought them real. It didn’t matter now though. The part of her that they had stolen would soon be hers again and they would pay.

These men had tried to hurt her, tried to take away her humanity, and now they would pay for their crimes. Yuza’s cold blood boiled as she slithered along the smooth stones, her silver gray scales blending in nearly perfectly. The first man fell, and she had nearly reached the second when they noticed her, but it was too late. He sank to the ground too, her venom working fast, almost too fast for Yuza’s liking. These men deserved to suffer, to feel their soul being ripped apart as their bodies died. As she sank her fangs into their soft flesh a part of her tore away. An angry, bitter, hateful part. The cold blooded killer part that was making quick work of those who had hurt her. She watched the men struggle to draw in breath for a few minutes, feeling their vibrations still. That cold part of her, knowing its work was done, slipped out of her snake form and Yuza felt it enter her human body, filling it with life.

She slithered off into the night, knowing that her fragile human form would be safe this time.


	18. Game

_Match found._

Her finger hovered over the keys and she gripped the mouse until her knuckles turned white, this was it. One wrong click and she would loose everything she had worked for over the past three months. Her sisters needed this, she needed this. This was the championship.

***

“Jisoo! Jisoo, I’m hungry, can we have ramyeon? Please,” Jisoo’s little sister said as she tugged at her older sister’s feet. Pulling her headset off for a moment, Jisoo turned to her little sister and contemplated her request.

“I suppose we could, ask Seri,” Jisoo finally replied. She needed to get back to her game and her own cooking was atrocious.

 _“Hey, Jett, you still there? We’re pushing Mid.”_ Shit, she’d been away from the game for too long.

“C’mon Hanna, I love you, but go bother Seri instead, ok?” She gently shoved her sister towards the door with her foot and pulled her headset back on.

_“Yeah, I’m here. Pushing Mid, copy that.”_

Her ultimate was nearly ready, but for now her updraft and main ability would have to do. Her trusty Phantom fully loaded, she followed Raze carefully around the corner, waiting until she had sent out her BoomBot. No one made a move as the happily blinking bot rolled along the floor towards the opening to Mid Haven. She hated this push, it was too easy for the enemy to place tripwires or hide behind the screen, and the enemy Jett loved to hide on top of the box.

Then Phoenix charged forward, flashing around the corner as he went. Jisoo sighed, hoping that this would go well. The score was currently 3-7, not impossible to come back from, but not the greatest place to be at either. Especially if they were about to lose this round too.

 _“Jett, swing left.”_ Their Brimstone, who sounded like he was too young to be calling shots, commanded. What the hell, he couldn’t be any worse than the cocky guy playing Phoenix who had aced the last round out of pure luck.

Swinging left, she was suddenly face to face with Omen. It took less than a second for her to left click, unloading her clip on the purple demon. Behind her she could hear the others planting. Omen must have been the only one here, good. That meant they had a clear site and it put them at 5v4. Omen hadn’t stood a chance.

 _“Spike planted.”_ The game announced. Jisoo used her updraft to leap onto the central box and crouched, waiting for the enemy to come. Other than the steady beeping of the spike and her sister playing in the background, everything was quiet. Sage peeked around the corner, inching further and further from their stronghold on the site.

 _“Sage, what are you doing? Get back here.”_ Phoenix hissed. The first good call he had made all game. But it was too late.

Reyna came barreling down the corridor, Empress activated and Operator ready to oneshot them all. Jisoo swore. If only her ultimate were ready.

 _“Sorry guys.”_ Sage sounded decidedly unsorry, she had spent the entire match so far only healing herself and getting herself needlessly killed and fueling Reyna was only one in a long list of bad plays. Either she was trolling, or she really was that bad. Maybe both.

At any rate, that left Jisoo and Phoenix to face Reyna and the others to watch their backs. Which from the sound of rapid firing and a few curses didn’t seem like it was going well. They were going to lose the damn match and Jisoo wouldn’t be any closer to being a Valorant.

She got Reyna in her sights and squeezed the trigger, maybe she could turn this round after all. Then her health dropped to nearly zero.

“Fuck.” She was the only one left and Reyna was still alive and well, feasting on the souls of her teammates. The other team’s Sage was defusing the spike and there was nothing Jisoo could do as Viper dealt the killing blow.

_“Match lost. Attackers win.”_

Jisoo pulled the headset off angrily, not even bothering typing gg into the chat. If the rest of her team had just tried a little harder, maybe just maybe they could have pulled through. But no, Sage had had to resurrect Phoenix instead of her in that last round and he had gotten himself instantly headshotted.

“Fuck,” Jisoo huffed as she pushed back from her keyboard and made her way to the kitchen. Seri was standing by the stove, making Hanna’s ramyeon.

“Hey, good game?” Seri asked, pouring a packet of seasoning into the boiling noodles. Jisoo rolled her eyes.

“Nah, blew it again. My team made the dumbest calls, and you know I’m shit at carrying,” she replied, grabbing a soda can from the fridge.

“Sorry, that sounds frustrating. Maybe some ramyeon will help?” Seri offered her a smile as she poured the second packet in. Jisoo shook her head.

“Thanks, but I think I’m just going to get back to it. The next team can’t be any worse.”

But it was, until finally, she ended up with a group that actually listened to her calls.

_“Sage, Sova, go left. The rest of us will draw them to B. And watch the sewers guys, Split’s notorious for sneak attacks.”_

_“Match won. Attackers win.”_

_“Watch Heaven. Viper, use your ult now!”_

_“Match won. Attackers win.”_

_“Ace.”_

_“Match won. Attackers win.”_

Jisoo hadn’t lost a game in weeks and her rank had skyrocketed to Valorant. She’d even played with a few Youtubers and she had a good shot at being able to enter the upcoming competition. The one with the 10,000 dollar prize money.

***

It was the last round; her ultimate was ready, and her trusty Phantom was once again fully loaded. This was her chance to win big. Come on, Jisoo, you’ve got this. Seri and Hanna need this. You can do it, just don’t get killed.

Her first opponent wasn’t looking up and she used her first precious updraft to shoot him. His teammates were too far away to help him, and a few well aimed shots took him out. Good, Cypher was down and as far as she could tell he hadn’t had the chance to set up any tripwires. One down, four to go.

 _“Jett, can you flank?”_ Ascent was her favorite map, and A was arguably the best place to plant. Her teammates would push from the hall and she would come around from behind, her way free now that Cypher was dead. Staying crouched, she cautiously made her way down the ramp. A flash of green caught her eye and she nearly fired as the enemy Sage threw her wall up. As far as Jisoo could tell, she hadn’t been spotted yet.

 _“Jett, we’re pushing!”_ Jisoo was about to use her second updraft when her health bar dropped. Spinning around she found herself face to face with the enemy Jett, knives out and ready to duel.

She could hear the others shooting it out on the other side of the wall, someone had mollied and Viper’s voice line that accompanied her ult was playing. None of that mattered though as she wiped out her own ultimate and faced the other Jett.

Her vision narrowed and her cramped dark room melted away, she wasn’t in her secondhand chair anymore. She was crouched in the ruins of Venice, five sharp blades hovering in the air around her like a deadly halo. The wind tousled her hair, and a bitter taste filled her mouth as little wisps of Viper’s poison drifted into the corridor.

“I know your tricks, wind girl,” Jisoo said, cutting through the chaos with a quiet voice as sharp as her blades.

Then she struck. Three blades flying through the air in quick succession. The enemy Jett had already used one of her knives getting her attention and missed the second one she threw. Jisoo dashed out of the way of the third knife and updrafted quickly, dealing a brutal blow with her second to last knife.

The enemy Jett stumbled, blood seeping through her blue robes as she looked up in shock.

“You’re not faster than me.” Jisoo threw the final blade, ending the clone’s life.

 _“Flawless.”_ The word echoed through her head as she slowly walked away from the carnage. They had won, hadn’t even needed to plan the spike. She let her gun drop from her hand, slipping through her blood stained fingers. It was over.


	19. Wish

The shimmering pinpricks of light were strange and Meena could not pick out a single constellation. The sky here was different too. Tinged purple even in the middle of the night and pulsing almost as if it were the stomach lining of some great animal and their tiny little planet had been swallowed whole. Which in a way they had been. Meena and her crew had been living among the alien people for nearly a year and though they had sent many message out through the black hole, no one from Earth had yet to respond. Not that it mattered to Meena much anyways. Her sister was dead, had been for several years, killed in a tragic car crash that had taken Meena’s unborn daughter from her as well.

Meena had left that world behind, letting her old life end and a new one begin with the alien who had first caught her eye so many months ago. When they had met, her partner had been in the form of a man, thin and stretched looking. And Meena had loved him, but it was difficult for her to share a bed with him, every time he made to touch her, she was thrown back into that moment in the piss stained frat bathroom. Eventually he figured it out and had shifted into the current gently snoring form.

“Meena.” The soft whisper of her name came from beyond the door, calling her out of bed. She hadn’t seen or heard from her sister in a long time, but there she was. Standing in the swallowed starlight, offering a hand towards Meena.

“Andrea? Is that…is it really you…” her voice trailed off as her sister gently nodded.

“I suppose it is. Although perhaps not the way you expect,” Andrea said, leading her sister to the edge of the dome as a gust of wind – artificial, and only for the human’s sakes – caught the hem of Meena’s pearly white nightgown and danced across her shoulders. 

They could not go beyond the dome without an oxygen tank, but Meena could see the stars perfectly through the thin shield. Reaching up, she curled her fingers around a twinkling diamond as if she were holding the brilliant star. Andrea smiled sadly and slipped away into Meena’s periphery, unable to stay as someone else approached.

“What are you doing out so late? Come back to bed, my love,” the willowy redhead said, her voice barely above a whisper and for a moment Meena thought she was an apparition just like Andrea.

“I couldn’t sleep, too much on my mind,” Meena replied, turning away from the stars, and taking the hand that was extended towards her.

“Anything I can do? Is it your sister?” the woman asked, small worry lines spreading across her face.

“No, I just wish she were still here. It’d make things easier, that’s for sure,” Meena offered up a reassuring grin.

They shared a kiss, and Meena’s hands trailed over the perfect little freckles that adorned her lover’s shoulders. The Andrea that she conjured now was different, a shell of the one who had called her out in the first place. This Andrea was a part of Meena masquerading as her sister. But a salty tear still slipped down Meena’s cheek as her sister offered her one last smile.

“Goodbye, little sister.”

“Goodbye,” Meena breathed quietly, as the woman in her arms kissed the tear away.

As they slipped back into bed, Meena felt something shift inside her. The pit of sorrow and guilt for Andrea’s death, for her daughter, melted away. A small spark of life growing in its place instead, still uncertain and yet Meena was hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little drabble is actually based on/inspire by a short story that I wrote a little while ago so if you want you can check that out here:  
> still editing the original work because I wrote it two years ago and it needs some editing/rewriting but here is the link for the short story:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113236


	20. Spy

The small vial bounced against her chest, the liquid within sloshing with every step. Her unruly ashen hair was strangled into a braid down her left side and her amber eyes stared intensely forward.

“Woman on a mission, huh?” Jess remarked, shoving off from the counter to offer her a drink. The stranger turned, revealing a newly healed scar and a deep set scowl.

“Just give me the ale and shut up. I don’t pay you to talk,” Astrid said, slamming a single gold coin down in front of Jess. Her vial swayed angrily as she positioned herself on the stool and yet another strand of her braid pulled itself free.

“Well, actually…you do pay me to talk,” Jess smirked, setting the ale down and leaning in as she slid it across the bar. “Unless you don’t want to hear the latest news?”

Astrid rolled her eyes and reached for the ale. When Jess stayed silent, she snarled and gave in.

“Yes, of course I want to hear the latest news. That’s the only reason I come to this godforsaken tavern and the only reason I subject myself to your company, now spit it out because I haven’t got long.”

“All right, all right. It’s nothing particularly interesting, only some gossip on the princess and a mysterious job that’s going down in a fortnight at the old barracks. Although, Creary’s involved with that one, so I’d stay out of it,” Jess said, grabbing a rag to clean the empty glasses with. A sigh escaped Astrid and she gulped the rest of her ale down.

“Well then, I’d best be going if that’s all.”

“Wait, Astrid, I’ll get you another glass? You can tell me about that scar,” Jess said, reaching across the bar for Astrid’s hand. Then a sharp pain twisted up her arm as Astrid yanked it.

“Don’t.” Jess looked up into those familiar amber eyes and let out a small gasp. Giving no explanation, Astrid jerked her hand away and strode towards the door. A man gave her a small nod as she left, and Jess realized he had been watching their entire interaction. Astrid was good and the little show they had just put on, Jess an unknowing actor, would throw him off their scent.

Finishing her shift was agonizing and her eyes kept darting back towards the man, who seemed to take forever to finish his bread and soup. Astrid had always been better at this, which was why she was the one carried out most of the jobs and Jess stayed at the tavern, collecting precious snippets of news or gossip about the princess’ new horse. Thrilling stuff for a woman who could have easily taken on the entire tavern and walked out with not even a scratch. Although, that would describe Astrid too. And she had still somehow ended up with four deep scratches along the left half of her face.

“For your troubles.” The man who’d been watching her stood in front of Jess, a gold coin not unlike the one Astrid had just used glinting in his hand. Nodding, Jess took it and wordlessly set down her apron and left out the side door.

***

“Did anyone follow you?” Astrid’s question sliced through the air as she pulled Jess off the small path and into the woods. The tavern’s light still glowed in the distance, but had the moon not been nearly full that night it would have been hard to see. Jess shook her head.

“He paid and left. I watched his horse go all the way to the end of the road before I came here,” Jess reassured, sliding her hand into Astrid’s as they were finally alone.

Astrid didn’t bother replying, and instead pushed Jess against the nearest tree. There was hardly any space for them to breath, but it didn’t matter. They had been apart for too many months and both of them were eager, desperate.

The vial felt cool against Jess’ breast and she could have sworn she felt Astrid’s heartbeat thumping next to her own. The scar could wait. Dealing with Creary could wait. The mysterious man in the tavern could wait.

But this could not.

The straps of Astrid’s shirt were the first to go, sliding them roughly down her bare shoulders until Jess could pull the whole thing off. Then Jess’ dress, floating to the ground with out a second thought. Her fingers scrambled over the metal clasp of Astrid’s belt until she finally pulled it the right way and that too was gone. The moonlight washed over them, setting Astrid’s vial alight and catching the new skin stretched across her face.

Somewhere Jess could faintly hear a man laughing, branches being broken and a few drunken snippets of a song. But none of it compared to the thump, thump, thump of their hearts. Perfectly in time.

Astrid hardly even noticed when her vial came loose and shattered against the forest floor, filling the air with sweet smells and a gentle fog. The tavern slipped away into it, the man searching for them with it. And then there was only Jess and the moon and Astrid. And their two beating hearts.


	21. Horns

When Lucifer was your grandfather life tended to suck. Sure, family gatherings were always top notch and he let you drink and didn’t care what you were wearing. But whenever someone at school found out you either became their new deity or the scum of the earth. And unfortunately, today Lilly was falling into the latter category.

“You think you’re such a little badass, don’t you? With your little horns and leather skirts and pentagrams,” Tessa said, pulling out her cross, an obnoxious gold plated thing set with pearls that Lilly doubted was in accordance with the Holy Book. Not that she knew much about the contents of the dreaded Bible.

“Just leave me alone Tess, I already gave you my lunch money, and Lord knows why-” Tess shrieked and pressed the cross against Lilly’s shoulder.

“How dare you take his name! You underworld heathen!” Tess screamed, her skin glowing as her halo began to appear. Lilly groaned as the cross began to sizzle against her skin, it really wasn’t fair that the teachers always sided with Tess. It meant that all the training with her Auntie Lilith were useless because how dare one of the devilspawn touch a precious little saintling. But there weren’t any teachers in the hall yet.

Letting her horns pop out of her pink girls, her eyes light up and she murmured an incantation under her breath. Conjuring the tiniest spark of hellfire, Lilly slammed it upward into Tess’ face. The resulting shrieks were like music to Lilly’s ears and she knew that her aunt would be proud.

Her triumph only lasted for a few seconds as the sharp clacking of Headmistress Gabriel’s heels could be heard coming to a stop behind her.

“Lilly, what is the meaning of this?” The words were calm, collected, and dangerous. She could barely look the severe woman in the eyes as she gulped down a breath of air and tried to explain.

“I didn’t start it, I swear, Headmistress. But Tess was burning me, here you can see it on my arm…” The cross shaped burn marks were already gone, stupid healing abilities. Tess’ burns, however, were nowhere near gone. A big angry mark on her right cheek and a sizzling eyebrow were immediately noticeable. And of course, the tiny flame dancing in Lilly’s hand gave Headmistress Gabriel all the evidence she needed.

“You will accompany me to my office, Lilly, where you will file papers for me until your parents can pick you up.” Tess smirked as the headmistress strode back towards her office. The spark in Lilly’s hand grew for a moment, but then she reigned it in, knowing that Headmistress Gabriel would only make things worse for her if she gave Tess another taste of her fire.

“Fine,” Lilly huffed and stomped after Headmistress Gabriel, her boots feeling heavier with each step closer to that horrible office she had spent more afternoons in than she could count. Tess flounced back to class, victorious.

***

If she had to file one more goddamn-

“Lilly, remember to get the ones in the back too,” Gabriel said as she clacked away furiously at her computer. Honestly, it was a wonder that Lilly didn’t incinerate the rest of the files right then and there.

If only her aunt were here, then all the little saintlings like Tessa and snooty Headmistress Gabriel would cower.

On the other hand, Lilly was likely to get a scolding for getting caught and her mother wouldn’t approve of her use of hellfire, so maybe it was for the best that she was still safe in the confines of the drab office. This must be what the saintlings think Hell is like. Monotonous base activities, overseen by an uptight guardian who dished out beatings every now and then or prodded you with a pitchfork.

They were wrong of course. Hell was better than any description of Heaven Lilly had ever heard. Her grandfather hardly ever bothered checking in on the “sinners” and if he did it was to throw the ironic Christmas rager once a year. The best part was that nobody cared who you were in Hell and they didn’t make you file anything, ever.

“Gabriel, old pal, good to see ya.” A booming voice sent the remaining files tumbling out of Lilly’s hands.

“Shit.” She swore violently under her breath, to which Headmistress Gabriel immediately reprimanded her.

“Lilly! You know better than to let me hear that filth from your mouth on school grounds. Lucy, good to see you again.”

Great, her grandfather had come to pick her up. As if this day couldn’t get any better, now everyone would know exactly who she was. And knowing her grandfather, he was sure to put on a show.

***

“Well Gabriel, it was fun. But I’d best be getting this one home now. Her mother has a few words to say about the use of hellfire and you’ve got this mess to see to. So long angel,” the fiery lord of hell said, throwing an arm around Lilly as they walked away from the smoking school building towards his chariot. Because a normal car wasn’t enough for the Devil himself.

At least he hadn’t brought his dentures.


	22. Cub

I snarl, struggling against my mother. She and my aunt are holding me back, but I am stronger, and finally I break free. I launch myself at the lion standing just a leap away from me. He is the one who must suffer, for killing my father and forcing my brother to flee the pride. I will kill him; Hatari will not escape death. Not after all he has done. He roars at me and I roar right back, baring my teeth as my anger reaches its tipping point.

“Get out of here!” my mother cries. Her whimper is pathetic, but I know that it is cruel to make her watch her last child fight with this monster. I launch myself at him, slashing his eye and hopefully giving him a nasty scar. Then I turn away from her and Hatari and run into the night.

For a while, his footsteps follow me, but then he slows and gives a final warning roar. _Don’t return._ If I am to see my mother and sisters again, I will have to find my brother.

Rain splatters against my golden fur and my eyelids blink almost constantly to keep the heavy droplets out. Thunder rumbles overhead, lightning accentuating the pride lands. I know that to find my brother I will have to leave their ‘safety’; I will have to wander into the unknown, that wild place beyond the Great river. Our father took us there on many an occasion and my brother will have surely gone there first. He always liked the water and my father called him _little fish_. 

I travel for the next five days; wind and rain follow me wherever I go, relentless and biting cold. I encounter a lone hyena, several elephants and two herds of antelope, which despite my growing hunger I ignore. On the sixth day I find signs of another pride, scents leading me back to a cave, bones neatly stacked in one area.

A roar sounds in my ears, and I whirl around. A snarl catches in the back of my throat as I crouch. A male lion stands before me, claws out and ready to pounce. He must be the pride male, ready to defend his cubs. I pause slightly, his scent familiar. Then it hits me, and a small purr escapes my throat. I slowly back down as a flash of recognition shows on his face. 

“Sister?” his growl is guarded, but a bit of his old playfulness is there.

“It’s me, I’ve come here for help. Hatari needs to be destroyed,” I spit out the last bit as if it were a piece of meat lain out in the sun too long.

“Are you vengeful, sister? I thought I was the spiteful one,” he purrs, laughter in his voice. It doesn’t take long before we are both rolling together like cubs on the floor, refamiliarizing with each other’s scents and relishing in the comfort of being home. The other lions watch in confusion. I realize how it must look, their alpha laughing with a complete stranger, the scent of my pride still clinging to my body.

I am introduced to the others after we shake off the dust from the dry floor of the cave. There are seven of my brother’s offspring, he’s been busy. They are playful, like their father, and welcome me with less suspicion than the others.

Days pass, turning into weeks. The new pride life is different, more relaxed. Hunting is easy, no one fights over food and we all care for the cubs, nurturing them, raising them to be strong.

“Brother, when will you come with me? Jasiri, when will you help free our mother?” I ask him one afternoon. He stands and begins to pace, tail flicking from side to side as he pads back and forth across the rocks. 

“Soon,” Jasiri growls, “soon.”

Another week passes, and then all of a sudden, the atmosphere changes. The best fighters gather themselves, preparing for a battle. I can feel the tension in the air, the cubs are more squirrely and anxious than ever and I can hardly get any sleep with Jasiri’s ever constant pacing. He is itching to sink his jaw into the lion that stole everything from him, but still he hesitates.

“It is time,” Jasiri roars, nearly two seasons have passed. The lionesses gather themselves; half will stay here, and half will go to fight. I am ready to give out a permanent scar, I am prepared to take back what is rightfully mine. Nothing will stand in my way.

The following day, we arrive in full force at the great rock that was once my home. I stand beside my brother, two siblings united by a vengeful hatred. I roar to announce our presence, but it isn’t necessary as my pride smelled us from a mile away. My mother runs up to me, I give her a loving lick on the nose, and she returns the gesture. She sees my brother and dips her head in acknowledgement. Her pride is clear on her face. He runs up to her and nuzzles his head in her chest, surprising her with this display of affection. 

The happy moment vanishes instantly as Hatari takes his wrongful place on the rock. He snarls angrily.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Can another lion not challenge your rule?” I roar, saliva dripping down my muzzle as I can practically taste his blood on my tongue. My brother stands beside me, my mother beside us. We stand united, he does not. 

Jasiri jumps up to the stone outcropping that Hatari stands upon, scrambling up the wall with a few powerful bounds and attacks. They go tumbling to the ground, clouds of dust obscuring my vision as I hear a yowl. The dust clears for a moment and I see my brother pressed against the dirt, Hatari’s claw dangerously near his eye. His head cracks against the stone and I snarl. My claws strike Hatari, right where I struck him all those weeks ago. 

Jasiri pulls himself up and helps me slam Hatari to the ground for good this time. We raise our claws in unison and strike together, Hatari is dead before his head hits the ground. I fall back onto my haunches, gaping at the mangled body at my feet. 

“It’s over, he’s gone,” I murmur.

“It’s over!” I roar, and I can’t believe how true the words are. I head towards the river to clean the blood off. But the stains won’t ever truly come out.


	23. Rain

_Tap, tap, tap._

A steady beat on her window. Nearly perfectly in time with her heart and the tunes blasting through her headphones.

Outside it is cold and wet, the sky pouring relentlessly. But her feet curl into the warmth of a fuzzy blanket. And her hands are securely wrapped around a steaming mug.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Somewhere in the other room a television is blasting the latest news, or maybe a football game. Her brother has dug into the family size bag of chips, crunching away to the gentle rhythm.

She closes her eyes and follows the sweet notes of her favorite singer. Nodding her head, hitting the cushion with her toes.

_Tap, tap, tap._

A knife comes down against the wooden chopping board, over and over again. The radio is on and her mother listens to NPR. The host is running advertisements.

Her pen rolls to the floor as she shifts her legs into a more comfortable position in the window seat. The poems scatter, drifting down, down, down.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Fiddling with a nail, he slams it into the board narrowly missing his thumb. Taking the level, her father continues on to the next one. The tempo doesn’t slow.

Lights flare up outside, maybe cars heading home, or the neighbors celebrating. Maybe lightning. She leans back against her pillow.

_Tap, tap, tap._

It washes over everything. The window. The street. The city. The world. Her heart thumps steadily.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Perhaps it will continue in the morning. Or the sun will chase it away. But either way, the pulse remains. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

Rain.


	24. Liar

The red tray flew out of her hands and somersaulted through the air, landing with a horrible squelch as Spaghetti Bolognese and chocolate mousse hit the linoleum. Bending down carefully, Angel attempted to scrap what she could off the floor, but it was no use. Little pieces of dirt and hair were already intermixed with her lunch, she’d have to resort to a packet of peanut m&m’s from the vending machine again.

“Oops, looks like somebody’s got a case of the clumsies,” Chelsea laughed, her perfectly polished nails glinting in the harsh cafeteria lighting as she stood towering over Angel.

It wasn’t worth it. The principal’s office and her father’s disappointment far outweighed the few seconds of satisfaction. It wasn’t worth it, right?

“Hey, sorry to bother you guys. I’m the new girl and I was wondering if you could show me around?” A pair of beaten up converse and mud splattered leggings said, stepping neatly between stray splatters of sauce and a meatball that had split in two. Chelsea huffed and twisted on her heels, unfortunately not slipping in the smear of chocolate mousse.

“Need a hand?” the sneakers asked. Angel finally looked up from her lunch and saw the sneakers’ face. The mud didn’t stop at her knees. The new girl had either recently rolled in a pigsty or the bus had gotten her good on the way to school. Given that there weren’t any pigsties in town, Angel figured it was the latter.

Other than the mud, or perhaps because of it, the girl looked nice in her red and black plaid shirt and black beanie. Her hand was warm, and Angel could sense the strength behind the arm that pulled her up, someone was hitting the gym pretty often.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that, Chelsea’ll hate you now,” Angle said, brushing dust off her knees as she continued to stare at the girl through her turquoise lidded eyes.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” the girl laughed, tossing one of her dirty blonde braids over her shoulder. “I’m Skye, by the way.”

“Angel. Nice to meet you,” Angel responded far too quickly, she was suddenly glad she’d picked the pink top and spent time on taming her hair that morning. Skye flashed a grin, her teeth naturally crooked, unlike most of the kids at West End High School. Heat rose up Angel’s neck and cheeks and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m guessing you didn’t actually get around to eating any of that lunch, did you?” Angel shook her head sadly; Spaghetti Day was her favorite and now she couldn’t even console herself with chocolate mousse.

“You can have half of my sandwich? PB&J, classic. And I think I’ve got a bag of chips and some carrots as well. What do you say we go sit outside? I’m sure Chelsea won’t follow us out there, it’s drizzling,” Skye said, already looping her arm through Angel’s and leading them away from the cafeteria mess.

“PB&J sounds good,” Angel said as she let Skye pull her along. They passed the principal’s office and Angel was glad Skye had interrupted when she had, or else she’d likely be the one slaving away at the filing cabinet.

***

The rest of lunch went by far too quickly for Angel’s liking and she wished for another hour with Skye. Angel made them stop by the vending machine on their way to class, History and Physics respectively.

“So, do you always get in fights with the vending machine or is this special for me?” Skye laughed as Angel struggled to get her packet of bubblegum out. It was stuck just a millimeter away from falling into the bottom, but she had run out of quarters and her pounding wasn’t doing a thing.

“This vending machine and I go way back. It’s had a vendetta against me since my freshman orientation,” Angel said, her frustration ebbing as she saw Skye’s grin.

“I see. Why don’t you let me give it a try? I’ve had some experiences with stubborn vending machines before.”

“Oh really? Well, good luck, but this one’s nearly impossible. It just eats your quarters.” Angel stepped aside so Skye could reach the glass. She gave a solid bang with her fist and then slammed the side with a look of intense concentration. The bubblegum shook, inching closer towards freedom. A well placed kick from Skye and…

“You did it! Holy shit, you actually got it out,” Angel said, staring in astonishment as Skye retrieved the packet from the vending machine.

“See you in Math?” Skye said, offering Angel the bubblegum.

“Yeah, thanks,” Angel replied, taking the gum, and relishing in the warmth of Skye’s hand before she had to turn around and dash down the hall to make it to History on time.

***

“You’re lying. You’re a liar! Why can’t you just tell the truth?” Angel screamed. Chelsea flinched, but didn’t take back her words. Leaning against the principal’s desk, Skye rolled her eyes at the back of Chelsea’s head.

“Look, we all saw what you did. You’re the one who took Ms. Hadley’s wallet, I don’t even understand why we’re wasting time with this,” Skye said, shoving off from the desk and offering Angel a hand.

“You aren’t really going to believe them? Mr. Gabriel. It wasn’t me,” Chelsea whined, the confidence in her voice slipping as Skye glared at her. Angel was fuming, popping her bubblegum furiously and trying desperately not to say anything more after her outburst. It was ridiculous. She’d put in all that hard work at lunch to stay out of the principal’s office and now she was there anyways. She hadn’t even gotten her satisfaction of seeing Chelsea face first in chocolate mousse.

“I’m afraid there were witnesses, Ms. Adams. I’ll have to call your mother.” Skye let out a sigh of relief at Mr. Gabriel’s verdict and squeezed Angel’s hand hopefully.

“See, they aren’t all bad,” Skye murmured in Angel’s ear as they left the office, leaving behind a spluttering Chelsea who had clearly never been successfully accused of anything before, let alone had her mother called in to school.

Angel popped her bubblegum one last time and spat it gracefully into the trash bin, imagining it stuck in Chelsea’s hair instead and smiling to herself as the drizzle outside turned into a pour. Maybe she’d find a puddle for her and Skye to splash around in.


	25. Sacrifice

“Long ago, eons before even I was born…” the voice was barely a whisper and the sisters came closer to hear.

“The world was coming into existence, and as it did, gods and goddesses grew up from the ground or fell from the sky. Some crawled out of the ocean, water dripping off their scaled backs, and others erupted out of mountains. And some simply came to be. These gods then shaped the rest of the world, making it how they saw fit. But one of the gods did not have the same vision as the others. Where the others wanted life, glory, and meaning, this god wanted only destruction. 

So, one night he ordered a young fire spirit, my ancestor, to sneak into the wood house where the rest of the gods slept. She used her smoldering fingers to set the walls ablaze, but the spirit was quickly killed by the water goddess, Mi. And soon after, many of the other gods had escaped the burning abode. Encircling the power-hungry god who had set their home ablaze like tinder, they were furious. However, in their fury, they forgot about the youngest of their gods, Aňadiri. 

She was the gentle and sweet goddess, spreading her innocence in the world, she knew only happiness. But now she was trapped in a fiery cage that she could not escape; screaming and screaming for the others to help her, she began to sob. Her soft white wings, tucked in as close as possible, where being licked at by the encroaching flames and her lungs were filling with smoke.”

The smoke had grown thick in the room, and it was almost as if the sisters could feel it choking them, like the goddess in the crone’s story.

“The young goddess was going to die. In that fear filled, air sucking moment, she knew it would be her end. Here in the fire set by a poor spirit, she was going to die. The other gods had forgotten about her. And why should they have remembered, they cared not for kindness, only for victory and triumph. Their world had no room for naïve or unknowing children, even if they were gods.

Suddenly she felt a whisper of cool air brushing her wingtip, and with a quick scan of the ceiling she saw its source. Part of the roof had burned into nothing, and there was a hole and with that hole there was freedom. 

This was her chance, she could either burn here or she could fly. Fly! And fly she did, bursting upwards and in to the awaiting smoke-filled sky.

She was triumphant, rising above the flames, she could see the other gods and then…

A searing burning pain came rushing through her, so bad that she almost fell in her flight. It was coming through her wings, a fire of its own was chasing the snowy white away, leaving a charred black in its place. The pain was blinding, all consuming, nothing else in the world mattered but ending that pain. 

And so, as she half fell, half flapped, her eyes fell on the dark god who had inflicted this pain upon her. Something snapped in her, and her very being broke and then her innocence shattered. And with it, so did her pain.

Unleashing her very inner most darkness, she uncaged every ounce of anger and hate locked within her and as she did, she changed. 

The other gods looked on with some semblance of shock and fear, even awe. And the god who had brought this down upon Aňadiri, he turned and ran. But even he could not run fast enough, for with her blackened wings she was faster than even the wind. When she caught the god, she chained him to a thousand lifetimes of suffering and vowed that she would never forget the hurt that he had inflicted upon her.”

The smoke was whisked away by the ice-cold whoosh of wind blowing through the open window and the sisters were snapped out of the trance of the storytelling. The old crone stood by the window, looking out.

“She became vengeance, as cold and cruel as the other gods. But Aňadiri also became sacrifice. And there are times when she remembers who she once was and then she weeps and becomes soft and gentle again, only to harden and rise once more from the burning flames, stronger.”


	26. Splash

_Continued from Day 12 – Bubbles_

_“You’re making a joke, right. I mean, you must eat something and what else is there in the ocean besides fish.” Ola smiled again, and this time Reina caught a glimpse of tiny sharp teeth. Then it hit her. Not a mermaid._

“You’re a siren.”

***

The two women stood knee deep in the frigid water. Ola crouched, every muscle tense and her eyes trained on the silvery glints beneath the waves, waiting. Sweat, something she had never felt before, rolled down her neck and had she not been so focused on the fish she might have asked Reina what this wetness was. Instead she concentrated, waiting just another moment and then she struck.

Her nails weren’t quite the talons she was used to, but they were enough to dig into the scales, finding purchase in the soft belly of the fish. She raised it up, victorious, and Reina clapped with glee.

“You did it! Robert’s never going to believe this, you actually caught the fish with your bare hands,” Reina said, balancing in the shifting sand as she congratulated Ola. Just a week ago, Ola would have torn into the fish raw, delighting in the juice that would dribble down her neck and the cold briny flavor. But that was improper.

Tearing the fish in half, Ola offered Reina the succulent belly.

“Oh, thanks, but um, we usually don’t eat fish raw,” Reina said, her nose pinching as she tried to keep a neutral face. Ola shrugged and slid both pieces down whole. Reina stared.

“Did you just?”

“Ta-sty,” Ola sang as she felt the fish settle in her stomach.

“Of course, that’s the one word you know,” Reina laughed, then shivered as the waves lapped against her thighs. The tide was coming in and the sun had started to slip behind the clouds a while ago. Perhaps it was time to get the princess back to her stone castle.

***

Dinner had turned into a rather exciting affair since Ola’s arrival. First there were the manners.

“Ola, you have to wait until my father’s been served.”

The fish’s tail stuck out of her mouth as she stared, round-eyed, at Reina. She slurped the rest of it down and grinned sheepishly. On the opposite side of the table Robert was doubled over laughing and the king looked on half amused.

Then there were the constant questions. Except Ola still hadn’t learned very much Common so it became a guessing game for the rest of them.

“That’s a spoon. We use it for soup,” Robert said, hoping that was what Ola had meant when she had rather aggressively slammed the spoon against the wooden table. A gargling sound that was vaguely in the direction of soup came out of her mouth and she banged the spoon with slightly less force against the wood.

“Maybe don’t bang it?” Reina suggested. Ola gave a small hiss and set it down, seemingly content with their answers.

And then, then something very strange happened.

Clapping his hands for dessert to be brought out, the king knocked Reina’s mostly full glass over. The liquid seemed to freeze mid air and instead of ruining her new dress, it arced gracefully back into its goblet.

“How…” Reina’s gaze fell on Ola, whose eyes seemed to glow even more than normal. Her hands were outstretched as if she were directing the water and it was obeying her. “How did you do that?”

***

“So… you’re saying the ocean’s alive?” Reina looked at Ola, one eyebrow raised.

Ola shook her head, then nodded.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Reina groaned; she was never going to figure this out.

Ola repeated the motion.

“Hold on…yes and no? So, sort of.” Ola nodded vigorously. “Let me get this straight. The ocean is sort of alive and you can teach me how to control it?”

Ola nodded again, offering up one of her toothy grins.

***

Scrunching her eyebrows together, Reina focused on the water. Or tried to, it was hard to focus on anything with Ola standing a few feet away from her.

Splash!

The water rose up and swirled around her, just like Ola had said it would. Now if only she could get it to move a little to the left. Reina pushed with her hands and her mind and her heart, just the tiniest nudge. She squeezed her eyes shut in concentration and then she heard a shriek.

Looking up she saw Ola, soaking wet. It had worked!

“Got you,” Reina grinned, letting her hands fall to her side as she let go of her hold over the water. Ola bared her teeth and pulled her hair out of her face along with a long strand of seaweed that had become entangled in it. Her eyes seemed to burn for a moment and then the corners crinkled up and she laughed.

“You got me.” And then she closed the gap between them. Reina shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold water Ola was dripping all over her. Her face flushed scarlet and for a moment she was unsure. She had wanted this ever since she had first caught sight of the siren, lying on the beach, her glittering scales wrapped around her. But now it was happening, Ola was right in front of her, sopping wet and staring into her soul with those golden eyes. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and before she could draw another one in, Ola’s cool lips were on hers.

“You got me,” she whispered. And Reina melted into her arms, kissing her back as the ocean rose up around them.

“You got me.”


	27. Spoken

She stumbled over the words and with each one wished she could sink into the floor and disappear. But the floor did not give way and her teacher did not free her from the painful task at hand.

“when I look into a mirror

I do not see myself.

I see fragments

shards

I see no one.

I hide behind my sweatshirt

hoping that today I am invisible

and that tomorrow no one will notice me at all.

when my father says chin up

be proud

carry yourself strong

I scream quietly in my head

how can I be strong?

I am paper thin

shattered on the ground

like broken glass

only I will not make your hand bleed if you touch me

I will simply melt away like snow”

She looked up, trying to see the class between her curls and wet eyes. They swam before her, a sea of blank expressions. It was no use.

“I will simply melt away like snow,” she repeated.

“when my mother says you are beautiful

remember where you came from

remember who you are

I whisper only to myself

who am I?

because there is no one in the mirror

and if a breeze came along

it would sweep me away

as if I were nothing

I am nothing”

Someone coughed and there was a scraping sound as a blurry shape made its way to the door. She gripped her piece of paper tighter.

“but I look into the mirror

and I hear a voice

my voice

and I realize I am not nothing

I am spoken

whispered

roared

I am here.”

Clearing her throat, she finished. “Thank you.”


	28. Flight

A ruffle of feathers, the sun catching in her long unkempt curls, the feel of the rough leather encasing her hands all made her heart beat a little faster. The mountain air was cool and fresh in her lungs and every breath brought her further and further from the troubles that awaited her at the bottom of the rocky craig. Circling overhead, Ere let out a joyous shriek. Luka smiled; she wasn’t the only one who appreciated the break.

Far beneath them, the village bustled away and beyond it, the sea crashed relentlessly against the shore. She strained her eyes and caught a glimpse of two figures standing in the waves, but a moment later they were gone, and Luka could not find them again. Ere shrieked again and began to dive, pulling in her tail feathers and plummeting gracefully as she gathered speed. Perhaps a rabbit, or vole. Or even some other bird, slight and unsuspecting of the small bundle of death hurtling towards it claws extended, beak ready to tear it apart.

Luka waited, letting the wind caress her face and lifting her closed eyes to the sun. Her heart thumped, once, twice, a third time and then she heard Ere land on the outcropping.

A small rabbit, still twitching, lay in Ere’s claws and Luka marveled at how little blood there was. Even her own kills, made with a bow and arrow, were messier. Content with the hunt and knowing that if she evaded her mother any longer trouble would come her way, Luka whistled for Ere and the two of them made their way back down the mountain.

***

When she returned to the village, her mother stood, arms crossed over her chest, lips turned into a half snarl, and eyes blazing with barely controlled anger.

“And what do you think you’re doing? Dragging that dress through the mud and traipsing about the mountain with that beast, I thought I’d taught you better. Now get inside and wash your face, we have a visitor,” her mother snapped, trying to shoo away Ere as she followed Luka into the house with little success.

Luka never got the chance to wash her face. The stranger stood in the entry hall in polished riding boots and an obnoxiously embroidered green tunic. Not a lock of hair was out of place and his grin looked quite…groomed. Everything her mother loved in a man, but Luka had a sinking feeling that this stranger was not there for her.

“Ah, apologies, Luka was just running an errand for me-get that bird away from me-and I’m afraid she hasn’t had time to wash up,” her mother hurriedly explained, stepping out of Ere’s way as she dragged the rabbit across the floor. The man’s grin faltered a bit, but he still politely tried to catch Luka’s eyes in greeting.

“I’m Robert, and you must be Luka, your mother’s told me so much about you,” he said, running a hand through his curls and flinching a bit as Ere approached him curiously.

“Yes, yes, I’ve told him all about what a lovely girl you are and how you’ll make such an excellent wife,” Luka’s mother added, seemingly relieved that he hadn’t outright run away at the sight of Ere or Luka’s frightfully messy hair. The word wife made Luka wish she could squawk like Ere and simply fly away.

Marrying a stranger was about as high on her list as willingly cleaning out the stables, which was to say, not very high at all. Luka was about to say as much when her mother cleared her throat.

“Luka, dear, perhaps it’s time you sent that bird away. It isn’t very ladylike to be keeping wild beasts and that rabbit it dragged in early was simply foul.”

Ere let out a squawk as if to defend herself. The man she was meant to wed moved even further away from the falcon and Luka rolled her eyes. She’d had enough of this.

“Mother. I have no intention of marrying this man nor any other. And my bird isn’t foul, but she most certainly is ladylike and furthermore, I like being wild. Make of that what you will, I’m leaving.” The words cut through the room like a gust of wind and Luka did not give either of them time to respond as she whistled for Ere and the two of them swept out of the house.

“I’ve made a mess of that now, but there’s nothing else for it, Ere. I won’t marry him, and I won’t be tamed. I’ve had enough of this; all I’ve ever wanted is to be like you. To be free.”

Ere’s golden eyes looked almost understanding for a moment and in them Luka saw her answer.

The old hut was nothing more than a few sticks and straw roughly assembled into the shape of a house, but within those rough walls resided the most powerful magic Luka had ever seen. If she wanted to fly, this would be the way.

***

Ere squawked, shifting her weight from foot to foot on Luka’s arm as the old woman bound together the herbs.

“It’s alright, soon we’ll both get to fly,” Luka reassured the bird, watching the woman add one of Ere’s feathers. An incantation with strange, unfamiliar words was rasped over the charm and then the woman held it out to Luka.

“Before you leap, add one drop of your blood,” the woman said, looking up at Luka with narrowed eyes. “And don’t forget to trust yourself, or else you will surely fall.”

Luka nodded, taking the bundle, and placing a small pouch of coins and the rabbit’s foot on the table.

“Thank you-” but the woman broke her off. “No need to thank me child. Just do me a favor and don’t fall.”

Luka laughed and Ere echoed it with a series of barking squawks and the woman took her things from the table and vanished.

“Well, what do you say we try it, Ere?” Luka murmured to the bird. “I know just the place.”

Looking down over the raging ocean, Luka’s stomach turned. She’d never been afraid of heights, there had never been an option to be when one lived in the mountains. But staring down, she shifted her weight back from the edge and looked at Ere.

“What do you think?”

Ere shrieked and took off, her powerful wings lifting her out across the cliff and over the water.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Luka laughed. Her stomach still churned but there was a sudden reassurance in her chest, and she knew in that moment that Ere wouldn’t let her fall, the charm would not fail her, and neither would her heart.

In one bound Luka leapt off the edge, trusting the charm and her own heart as the wind began to rush around her.


	29. Betrayal

The ground seemed to crumble beneath her feet as she watched them kiss, again and again and again. The past week played in her head over and over as she tried to pinpoint the exact moment Eilene had stopped loving her. Perhaps it had been in the kitchen, flour covering their faces and her true intentions. Or the long walk at dusk, the sun slipping lower and lower until, like her love, it was gone. Persephone did not want to consider the third option, the one where her sweet, tender Eilene had never loved her. The one where it had all been some grand trick to steal her heart.

And with it, her throne.

***

The Underworld was a lonely place, and the dead did not make good conversation. But it was home, and Persephone could always breathe easier once her bare feet touched the cool dark earth. Above, on the surface, the scent of flowers overwhelmed her senses, sickly sweet and inescapable. Here the sun did not blind her, nor could it burn her skin and the water that flowed fresh and clear from the Styx vanquished the thirst that always haunted her above.

That day in the flower field, she had not even stopped for a moment to consider what it would mean to follow Hades into those shadowy depths. She had only known that it was better than suffocating in her mother’s cage of living things. And Hades was kind, or at the very least indifferent. Giving him her heart was easy, and he had gently guarded it for years.

Eilene had floated into her chambers one night, while Hades was gone to Olympus, barely more than a wisp of a soul and had called out to Persephone.

“Help me, your majesty, I am frightened.”

And Persephone rose from her bed and spoke to Eilene for what could have been lifetimes. She had seemed so lost, innocent, loving that Persephone had not once considered what it meant to give this woman her heart. From there it did not take long for her to slip out of bed one night and fashion Eilene a body out of gemstones from the great quarry where the dead slaved away. Persephone filled that body with life and love and hope and when the sun rose up above, Eilene stood before Persephone as flesh and blood, heart beating. Whether it beat true, Persephone would never know.

***

Her chest tightened and Persephone found that she could no longer breathe here either. The sickening scent of flowers crept down her throat and she wanted to scream, but then Eilene would surely notice her, standing hidden in the roses. Turning away from the nightmarish scene, Persephone ran to the only place she had left.

She threw herself into the river, the sharp current tearing at her hair and limbs and slowly the pain began to ebb. Her vision began to spot and for a moment she saw Hades above her, smiling sadly down at her. Then everything was dark.

Twinkles of light danced across her eyes, like stars coming out at night, and she found herself looking down. The Styx flowed slowly here, the current ambling along as it ferried a small form down a bend and past the quarry. Around the form, which she now saw was a body, flowers bloomed in soft pinks and whites and blues so dark they were black. She wondered where Eilene was and as if her soul was responding to her question, she found herself in the throne room.

Eilene wept at the base of a small obsidian throne. Cracked and overgrown with vines and thorny roses, it looked so very different from the first time Persephone had laid eyes upon it. And beside it, unmoving, Hades sat. His eyes were hollow, and his normally imposing stature had crumpled. A single tear streaked down his dark cheek and his fist was curled tightly around something.

He looked up, and their eyes met for a moment, a thousand emotions passing between them and then he sighed.

His hand fell open and a single blossom drifted to the floor.


	30. Sorcery

Heat blossomed between her cupped hands and she let out a sigh of relief as the small flames brought warmth to her frigid fingers. Her footsteps crunched softly against the fallen leaves and as a quiet fog settled in between the trees she drew her cloak tightly around her shoulders. The flames she had conjured danced around her, illuminating the woods with a soft pink glow as her magic fueled their heat and she made her way down the narrow path.

She could already hear the singing, a steady rhythm drifting through the fog and beckoning her. Her flames matched the beat and as she approached, other brightly colored orbs flickered into existence. Letting her cloak drop to the ground next to the others, she stepped into the circle. Her sisters were already gathered and as she linked hands with the women on either side of her she felt a tingling sensation running up and down her arms and flowing through her body. The pink flames glowed brighter and moved more frantically.

Around them the fog shifted, and the clouds slipped away to reveal a full moon and a pitch black sky. The path would be hidden now, impossible for a human to find, as the mist dropped down like a veil between the world she had just come from and the next. As she gripped her sisters’ hands, the earth stirred beneath her feet and slowly they began to rise.

The words of the song disappeared, and it became a low hum, the fires died down and became muted, and the moon shone brightly above, the only tether to reality.

One of her sisters called to her from across the circle in joyous greeting and their flames intertwined with on another. Blue meeting magenta as she called, “Circe!”

There were others who greeted each other, welcoming the newer sisters into the fold. Then all was still, and they began.

Though their feet did not touch the ground, they danced in the moonlight and magic flowed through them into the cool night air. Electricity ran through Circe’s whole body and she freed herself of the knots that had twisted themselves around her heart.

The angry words she had shouted to her boss after he’d said her hair was unprofessional, the text telling her boyfriend to go fuck himself, and the nasty sneer at the man who’d whistled as she’d walked by him all tore free. Around her, the others did the same until the memories in the center of their circle were all gathered together in a tangle of frustration, hatred, and rage. Their hands still intertwined, the women took up their chant again and the writhing ball began to pulse. With each beat, a memory would rise to the surface and the women channeled their magic towards it.

Circe’s breath caught in the back of her throat as her catcaller rose to the surface, the sisters on either side of her squeezed her hands and they took up their chant.

The man’s expression changed from one of glee to pain, the corners of his mouth twisting grotesquely down as he began to beg for it to stop. But they did not cease their chanting, and when the last word had fallen from Circe’s lips the man was nothing but dust and the memory was gone into the night.

This went on until the moon began to slip away and their lids and tongues were heavy. Their feet lowered to the ground and the women collapsed in a heap, their flames slowly winking out one by one. Circe was the first to rise, lifting her cloak from the ground.

As she hurried back along the path, she felt the magic slowly leave her until she came out of the woods, eyes dull in the light of the rising sun.


	31. Sun

Her hair was like straw, if straw were bubble gum pink. And her eyes were like the ground beneath her bare feet, soft brown, like her skin too, which was dipped in freckled honey. She was wearing overalls, the kind that cut off about midthigh and that you had to wear a shirt under. The shirt in question was a white that had been through the washing machine too many times, but the embroidered sunflower was still a bright yellow. Her ears were pierced, but no earrings sat in the tiny holes at the ends of her lobes. There was dirt under her chipped yellow nails, as if she had spent a lot of time gardening, which perhaps she had. A hat sat on the ground near her, all floppy and wide brimmed and under the hat was a small woven basket with a red checkered cloth and a neatly wrapped sandwich. She was swaying ever so slightly in the wind, just letting the world go by, the field of flowers mirroring the swaying motion behind her. The great expanse of quiet and the serene girl were broken then. And my own observation interrupted as the branch of the lone tree, upon which I had been sitting, snapped. The crack was deafening. I tumbled to the ground, the whole world spinning in ways that it shouldn’t. There had been another crack, a quieter one, just after I had hit the earth, that had been so soft beneath the girl’s feet, but was now cruelly hard. My arm was on fire, burning, like the eyes that were now staring down into mine. I thought in that moment that I was going to feel a wrath and fury worse than that of my mother’s when she caught me sneaking home from some late-night party with my so-called ‘stupid’ friends. But instead she just stuck out her hand with those sun yellow nails and the dirt stuck beneath. 

It did not take her long to expertly bind my arm with the checkered picnic cloth. She had also thoroughly examined my head so as to make sure that I had not concussed myself, and then continued down the rest of my slightly bruised body to ensure that I was not otherwise harmed. Her carefree manner had disappeared, a clinical concern settling over those deep brown eyes and she had tucked her hair behind her ears so that it would stay out of her way. Now she sat next to me, still not saying a word. We did not look at each other, simply stared out at the field before us and the great dome of the sky above us. Then she reached behind her for the basket and pulled out the sandwich. Without a word she unwrapped it, rolling the saran wrap into a ball and tucking it back into the basket with a practiced motion. The bread looked fresh, homemade. Like it had been baked that very morning. And it smelled heavenly too. There was lettuce, tucked between the two slices, greener than anything I had ever seen before, and a cheese that looked soft and ripe, and squashed neatly between the two, ruby red and practically dripping with juiciness was the tomato. It was the finest sandwich I had ever seen, and I think she saw my admiration for it because the next thing I knew half of it was placed into my good hand.

And so, we sat there, still in absolute silence, sharing the perfect sandwich in a field of flowers. Nothing but the sky and the broken tree and the two of us. We sat there for quite some time, long after we had both finished our halves, and finally, as the sun was starting to slip beneath the horizon, basking everything in its faint orange glow, she turned to me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this year's Inktober! I had a lot of fun writing these and I hope you enjoyed them as well. If you want to check out my other works, last year's Inktober is up as well and I will be finishing last year's 12 days of Christmas soon-yes, I know it's about a year late :P   
> I'm also working on a Captain America fanfic called Bleeding Stars and hopefully this year I'll get around to actually writing more of it so check that out if you want!   
> Hope you're staying safe and that you're happy and healthy <3!  
> ~LydiaLannister


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